What grandeur the unreal has.
All this time thinking that I was observed
When the blind eye that turned was mine.
Things stay on like surface smoke, cling to memory
To cloak what used to be with semblances of meaning,
For the mind strives valiantly to know the feeling
That is loss, that is emptiness, that is that that never
was
But seemed to be. There must be some proof somewhere
That the love I felt was shared.
Is the record only shadows, the implacable loved
Still resisting her entombment as ideal?
So like the dead, she refuses to budge, says she must be
Who she is, only, a force of tangible flesh and moving
blood …
As vaporous as clouds, in other words, like I must relive
In fading waves the day she disappeared.
In fading waves the day she disappeared.
