Gone (Revision)

[Thunderembargo]

She leaves home so often           try replacing "home" with metaphor:  She leaves the nest with sudden flight
you stop noticing—until the day,                                                       with only a feather in trail
she doesn’t come back.                                                                    she lofts in other nests
You pull back the curtain                                                                  You pull back your wing
and light retreats to shadow,
as you peer through the tunnel                                                         as you peer through your beak
between streetlights, listening
to the hungry night, only to turn back
to your husband who pushes
food around his plate until
everything grows cold.
The hours drag the rivers,                                                             this is an excellent line of poetry, which demonstrates the measure of some new quantity of time and substance

waiting for a call, or a note,                                                              
like in the movies, but there’s no bargaining                                    bargaining with God is intriguing.   Can you expand on this theme?
except with God. She’s vanished                                                    bargaining with God like Aquinas, how many angels will resurrect her 
in some perverse magic trick,                                                        like the perversion of Houdini, 
into a disappearing box,                                                                his magic drowned in the sorrow of disappeance
out of your life. There are no words to speak,                                  forever gone
or incantation to perform. The magician 
has had a heart attack.                                                                 his heart burst from the anguish of love

Revision

She leaves home so often
you stop noticing—until the day, 
she doesn’t come back.
You pull back the curtain,
and light retreats to shadow,
as you peer through the tunnel
between streetlights, listening
to the hungry night, only to turn back
to your husband who pushes
food around his plate until
everything grows cold.

The hours drag the rivers,

waiting for a call, or a note,
like in the movies, but there’s no bargaining
except with God. She’s vanished
in some perverse magic trick,
into a disappearing box, 
out of your life. There are no words to speak,
or incantation to perform. The magician 
has had a heart attack.


Original

She leaves home so often;
you stop noticing. Until the day, 
she doesn’t come back.
Light retreats to shadow,
You pull back the curtain
to peer down the tunnel
between streetlights, listen
to the hungry night, then turn back
to your husband over dinner and push
food around your plate. 
The hours drag the rivers,
waiting for a call, or a note,
like in the movies, but there’s no bargaining
except with God. She’s vanished
in a perverse magic trick,
into a disappearing box, 
out of your life,
and the magician 
has had a heart attack.
No words exist
to make her reappear.

There is so much ennui here, that the sappy lines which I've submitted can only suggest a different kind of sadness.   A different sense of the possibilities of "French-American" verse.