[Written in the mid 80s to a coworker, I composed this in the middle of the night after the bars had closed. Tamara had told me that evening that she would be moving from Colorado Springs to Florida, and had asked me if I would "write" her. I had hoped we could be more than friends, but I guess I had not made my intentions clear to her. I gave the poem to her the next evening at work.]
To you, if ever you should go...
Your absence now is everywhere.
The room is filled with you're-not-here.
If I like sand could sift the air,
My hands would fill with not-yet-tears.
You're gone not yet, but promise soon
My missing-you will reach the moon.
Before you leave you want to know
If I will write you, keep in touch.
Suppose I want you not to go;
To stay with me, that we might find
If friendship into more would grow?
For you to stay, is that too much
To ask of one so dear to me?
And if it is, I'm not the kind
To bind your heart despairingly
With bankrupt pleas. So I'll not dare--
When you depart--my loss to share.
For then my hopelessness would show
To you, if ever you should go.
~Mark A. Rector
[She forgot to take this poem home with her,
leaving it on a work counter that night.]