These conversations with my past make me know
I loathe frailty in others because I hate it in myself.
I don’t mean to keep you. I will let you go
Back to your habit of castaway loves. There are those,
Stones and oceans, that bespeak loss and meeting. Lifetimes of
These conversations with the past make me know
That re/memory, like film, disintegrates, dissolves with no
Permanence at all. I swore to myself I’d keep this brief.
I didn’t mean to keep you. I will let you go.
Some words can exist without being spoken, but do you
Ever whisper my name? I do yours. It catches my throat like grief,
And these conversations with my past are all that make me know.
Please leave me something—more than sad lyrics of woe...
Because I have known you, I have had to become more aloof,
But I don’t mean to keep you, I will let you go.
Sometimes between stones and oceans—former friends, now foes
—There can exist a stretch of light, sweet oblivion beyond belief.
These conversations with the past are what make me know
I never could have kept you. I had to let you go.