You might have struggled to escape me
yet your tendrils held me to you.
I was far too implacable for any living thing
though strangely bound to you, sweet-sight.
How could I not recognize you as my wife?
We were as one standing for summer.
Now you see me, by fractions, 
fly madly from this child's bow.
Yourself carried off: 
a fine subject for that painter.
When we meet again, in the garden's dark corner,
we shall be friends. Watch wagtail wag 
poppy pop and laugh at the red-hot poker,
swaying where we once pushed and pulled.