It was as if the whole world
lived inside that little room of yours
under the eaves on Chestnut Street
and to be near you
I, with boyish desire
envied the maple tree
that grew beside your window.
Ah, those blurred panes
I see now on looking up
at emptiness and loss,
craving somehow yet
the bliss that went with hoping
your curtain might open
and seeing you aware
that I was waiting there.
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