the past comes as feeling misremembered fragments
we see in our mind beyond description or movement
without time or place or purpose
I can see the saxon church in sunlight but you cannot
come for beyond that memory of light seen in my left eye
there is no story and I
have no wish to learn the technical language required
to strip out my past into your present for the shape
and the smell and the taste
of that moment only remain in context of something
else that I have forgotten so we share the poetry of
nothingness and you
disappointed turn the page
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