Unwilling to erase, I move among the scattered remnants, palming each shard of what refuses to end, my hands learning the contour of you in the dark Inside that quiet wreckage, I go on, inhabited by you If what remains of me should weigh upon you however faintly, would that not be reason enough to turn? A heart inclined toward a single name, lingering beyond its own season did you ever imagine such duration? Even now, I rehearse us as love, as if naming could preserve what has already slipped its form And if you should pass into some other weather may you falter on the place where I persist, unarriving, undelivered to any other In the end, let me not be a season you have outlived, but the climate you never leave75
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I move among the scattered remnants,
palming each shard of what refuses to end,
my hands learning the contour of you in the dark
Inside that quiet wreckage, I go on, inhabited by you
If what remains of me
should weigh upon you however faintly,
would that not be reason enough to turn?
A heart inclined toward a single name,
lingering beyond its own season did you ever imagine such duration?
Even now,
I rehearse us as love,
as if naming could preserve
what has already slipped its form
And if you should pass into some other weather
may you falter
on the place where I persist, unarriving, undelivered to any other
In the end,
let me not be a season you have outlived,
but the climate you never leave