Jacqueline's world has fragmented,
But I don't want to talk about sadness.
There is enough sadness,
petals on water, drifting away.

His net is no longer strong and
in a strange way her grief is a freedom,
Because there are no such things
as separate parts.

Instead, everything is intimately related
And so bound up with each other,
and so alive, so inseparable.

The rain bounces up from Pablo's grave
and flows under that bridge
From Avignon back to the sea,
Under the dancers,
Fragmented, yet one.

Her grief is a pigment,
If only she had known that, her colour, not his,
separate, yet together.

John Walker