a poet's epilogue

[Ruth]

and, in my life
will it matter that we met?

that I noticed the light spinning
from the thrown hope
of maple keys before
they die under bicycle tires
pushed by gangly boys?

should I guard my heart from joy
as I watch the leaves, painted by
diminished strokes of sunlight,
freed by a purple sky
and indolent raindrops
dance their way to earth?

did my words have any meaning
even as the salty waves claimed them
with the sand from my hands and from my feet
and lent me a small shell in return?

and, in my life
will it matter
that I had hoped again?