Was it unforgivable

I write only to say this,
In a syllabic dryness
As inglorious as I feel:
Sometime before drinking time
For the first time in some weeks
I heard of you, the casual
News of a new life, silence
Of unconfronted feeling
And maples in the slant sun
The gay colour of decay.
Was it unforgivable,
My darling, that you loved me?

An untitled poem by J.V. Cunningham