I saw your hand
reach out from behind the cloth
a fragile thing
beguiled by shadow and pomp
though your face flush
the hand was molded plaster
disembodied
as if it had no master
but you it served,
of this I can be certain;
the gift it held
brought from behind those curtains
I gave to you
all those many years ago.
Why now return
that whittled ivory rhino?

I loved you then
that I am sure of my dear.
So romantic
but with you, it was austere.
In such patience
my dreams slipped from reality
contradicting
your love for hyperbole.
I filled myself
with the visions of your rhino
grandiose, yes
amongst my humble fallow.
Your confusion
Lends all hands towards your grief.
I must tell you
It is time for me to leave.