Who Can Bear This Repetition?

I am losing you
to the sad mountain haze
and the cold height
I see in a September moon

No, you do not yet feel
its breath on your neck,
or see the jaundiced truth
lapping the dead shore, wanting
to pitch higher and farther.

You do not see the black bear,
or the crabs scuttling on the ledge,
or the deer among the trees.
Like them we are hiding,
Like them we live in secret.

Repetition is what's left
when the first surge of love
is scattered by unexpected force--
a boat, an island, a cliff of rock,
a face, whose name I have forgotten,
but worse, a vast unbroken watery space.
The fog settles and and ice forms against the shore
while we see less and less, and wish it more.