To that strange country where my love now is
I cannot follow in my mind
Sometimes by night, behind my lids
As on a flickering screen
I see his hand, his head, a look of his,
His figure striding as he walks away
No sooner seen than gone.

I know he is not here
Yet every day no corner's turned
Unless I quickly glance to find him there
No question's ever asked
But my heart waits to hear him answering.

Norah Boehme