Sorting out letters and piles of my old br Canceled checks, old clippings, and yellow note cards br That meant something once, I happened to find br Your picture. That picture. I stopped there cold, br Like a man raking piles of dead leaves in his yard br Who has turned up a severed hand. br br Still, that first second, I was glad: you stand br Just as you stood—shy, delicate, slender, br In that long gown of green lace netting and daisies br That you wore to our first dance. The sight of you stunned br Us all. Well, our needs were different, then, br And our ideals came easy. br br Then through the war and those two long years br Overseas, the Japanese dead in their shacks br Among dishes, dolls, and lost shoes; I carried br This glimpse of you, there, to choke down my fear, br Prove it had been, that it might come back. br That was before we got married. br br —Before we drained out one another’s force br With lies, self-denial, unspoken regret br And the sick eyes that blame; before the divorce br And the treachery. Say it: before we met. Still, br I put back your picture. Someday, in due course, br I will find that it’s still there.