Is it any easier Sylvia?
Are you any better off,
now that it’s all over and done with?
Do you breathe the easy breath of one
who has no regret or remorse?
Worry is of the self.
Have you escaped yourself?
Or are you trapped?
Trapped in your unsurity.
Is it dark where you are, Sylvia?
Is there the site of far off light which you can’t touch?
No warmth? No hearth? No heart?
And what of words or musicality of voice?
What of things that brought you solace in the dark times of your hereness?
Have you cast them? Like rods with no reels.
Perhaps they are of no need.
Your name shall last.
You did not.
Do you regret it now, Sylvia?
Do you regret it now?