Picking One's Way Back Through Time

Is, as it unhappens, the only way
We move through time, we who are memories
Tagged with the labels that stabilize us,
The memories of metaphors themselves.
Every day last July we visited
The bend in the dirt road swarmed by wildflowers
That we discovered and rediscovered,
That we continue to rediscover
And replace with our rediscoveries
As the Meadow of Nothing Happening.
Every visit was another goodbye.
Every visit is another goodbye.
We thought when we began this with a phrase
We liked we wouldn't have to, but we do.