All the Bright Illusions

^{i.m. Sam Fox, 1941–2020}

In a charmed summer garden
among the fruit trees where
we walked along the wall
we barely noticed it.

At one point when you leaned
against it, it gave way.
There was a sudden breeze.
You were no longer there.

Bird cries did not abate
and the stream went on flowing.
Small creatures scurried. How can
a man evaporate?

Time turns a corner and
the world is as it was
yesterday afternoon
but for that sleight-of-hand.

I’m wise and damaged now.
Give me some time to rest.
All the bright illusions
I loved are giving way.