The memory has faded.
Not as a memory, but as a present moment.
That empty feeling of hopefulness, passed.
One year and nine days
Is a space separating two lifetimes.
Another moment in the garden,
Beside the road which I try not to see.
When I returned in the winter,
The trees could not offer the same shade
Which they had before; hiding
The world as it is.
Words move, music moves,
Names bite and carry weight I never saw.
Sight is the curse of the one who struggles
With heaven, finding his weaknesses.
He leaves with a limp from the river
Where he learned life and pain and struggle.