FOR LOU, WHO LIED christie towers

I remember you, beside me on the wet lawn:
after dark, no moon, no light but the dim
glow of town reflecting like a distant dawn
along the bellies of the clouds. You skimmed
an open hand over the tall, damp grass,
and said nothing. I would leave town soon,
and of the nights I'd see you, this is the last.
But I didn't know it yet: about the doomed
count of cells re-doubling inside of you.
By the time they called me, it was too late,
too late, already, and they said you knew,
and for years I had to tell myself not to hate
you for it, for the silent way you lied to me,
for letting yourself leave your life, quietly.