Ben Sollee and Regrets - poem

I want to say these two very different voices and how we express our experience or observations of love or lost love belong together.

Prettiest tree on the mountain - Ben Sollee

A quibble over your policy of no regrets

Bert Haverkate-Ens

There are stupid questions,

but often regrets are dear.

Comfort sometimes follows the loss.

Already tonight the moon is a lopsided egg,

tumbling so very slowly towards the earth,

the bare branches reaching upward

too thin to catch it in time.

If only I had looked longer,

if only I had reached out my hand.

Still, without your luminous face

my life would have no present pang.

And even some bitter regrets have kept me

from becoming a sop.

It is crystal cold in the darkness

and now the moon, lower, yellows,

growing larger,

but merely another illusion

among many.

But nothing will ever be the same.

How could you have gone so distant away?

And still if I wept not, I cared not.

So what should I tell of regret and lost luster?

I would not be brave and false to my longing.

And later still,

now the Dipper has spilt all its milk

into an empty night sky glowing,
only blackest with my eyes shut tight.