The Chain

I will not care
if you do not love me.

We have already
sat on the hill together
in sunlit trees.
We have watched the owl.

We have already
eaten pears
examined chalk on a brick wall
drunk a pale yellow tea.

And besides,
the chain between us has fallen now:
a centipede upon the ground--
clay and dry
like a bone.

I do not care.
It has been nice.

I will be glad that,
like an early star,
the bright sun has taken you from me

every morning.