This is a memory of a life that is not mine. I write it in you like a dream. I would not share it any other way.
I am standing at the place in you where I said no. You wear white now, you are barefoot in the street. I deny you like a ghost.
You brought me here, and I stay. It was not the other way. I was always leaving.
There is no sign of December in the sky, the field, our hearts. The trees do not picket snow, the wind is not a scream on your face, blood in mine.
We leave love, not you or me, and if I remember the ground it’s because I remember the stars. Its not the other way. We unmake the world, the flimsy dreams of dreams, collapse the air into the thing it was, conceived. Like mirrors all the faces, as they always were, me or you, and now alone, I am everyone.
There is no outer darkness to a heart. Alone, it is everything and everything it sees. I do not look for you everywhere,