I imagined their long lives together,
Disproportionate amounts of pain and treasure,
Hand in hand they both rambled forever,
Something the gone heart could never measure.

Under twisted branches seeking heaven,
Isolated melancholic pleasure,
Les affaire de coeur, the spirit’s leaven,
Something the gone heart may never measure.

Yearning for a dream of feeling something,
We are nether dark Cimmerian leisure,
Disproportionate amounts of pain and nothing,
Something the gone heart should never measure.

I wrote this poem in the form of a French kyrielle; inspired by this simple photo I took years ago while wandering alone in Georgetown. Though kyrielles do not require any specific meter, I chose to write this in trochaic pentameter because of its melancholic rhythm.