What we left behind we left behind
as dissolving tombstones in an infinite,
burgeoning field. This is best
repeated: what we left behind
we left behind. Displaced from
an eternity that is at some point a given,
only God can save our moments.
I mean remnants. In a dozen years
my yesterday will wash out into the empty
space of a frame. Or if not yesterday,
one of these ventures will.
Or all of them. So what is left is
a veil, made
of iron, with nothing behind it, and no
veil either. As if a frame will save us.
As if there is yet us within, and us about.
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