Edges

I’ve often wondered why she laughed On thinking why I wondered so; It seemed such waste that long white hands Should touch my hands and let them go. And once when we were parting there, Unseen of anything but trees, I touched her fingers, thoughtfully, For more than simple niceties. But for some futile things unsaid I should say all is done for us; Yet I have wondered how she smiled Beholding what was cavernous.