And she apologized
(Not for that, but for that too)
In her manner.
And I knew
Though not then.
But even then
Was oddly disconcerted
By the finality and the entirety
Of her apology.

And passed it off
In my manner,
Thinking it was only for that
But knowing it was for more
Than simply one small moment
In a vast, identity-less sea of moments
Crossed and past re-crossing.

It is possible
To be lover and yet unloved.
She did me that service
For payment less than thanks
And I accepted that service as due.

And she apologized
And was gone.
The apology remains
To be recalled
For every memory of that brief, endless relationship.
Less than love
Yet infinitely more enduring.