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Backword
Appreciation through absence.
Reminder through removal.
The ironic tendency of funeral hymns
to revive our valuation
of yesteryear's sensations.
Shame.
The echoes seem always more precious
than the naked shouts -
a sobering indication
of what's left -
as the future waits to be dressed
in retrospect.
It's why I hate having had you,
and having had to
have written this present-day piece
at half its potential value.
So I'm clawing my way
back dimensions, to God,
when Nothing was All
and 'When' wasn't real.
Where we can remain
unborn thoughts, together,
unfettered by the power
to remember.
