In a sweet drift

In a sweet drift we went our ways
as one. To each an intricate gift
had been entrusted. For a few days
in a sweet drift

it had the look of a thing that stays.
But when the end came it was swift.
Something had snapped. No long delays,

no drama of doubt, no loud dismays . . .
but the torn silence of a deep rift.
Yet still the memory plays, replays
in a sweet drift.