Watched you, writing 
his name across your folder. 
my pencil, snapping 
with my heart, felt colder. 
The rattle of pieces, broken 
discarded falling, drowned, 
yet reflected, the unspoken 
smash of hope that is downed. 
Ragged edges left, wishing 
like me, that they'd been warmed. 
Prepared for breaking,
Maybe we wouldn't have torn. 
But the pencil, as all can, can be 
sharpened, and erase its past; 
I'll always keep a memory 
of you, as long as I last. 
I'll have to be content 
to wait, for you to drop him for me, 
or maybe just the extent 
of the rest of all eternity. 

January 1985