Saturday, July 31, 2021

More of Monet than of Glück

It’s a very nice poem, but you already wrote it

You only die in the eyes
Of others. In your own mind,
You can’t. You’ll be abolished.
You will not exist. You will

Never have existed, nor
Will anything ever have
Existed. You always are,
If you are, and if you aren’t

You never were. The sorrow
You have felt, feel, will feel, will
Have felt, maybe for decades,
Can only be for others

Who have lost others, for you
Who have lost others, for your
Memory, which is always
Losing, building, and losing,

And in imagination,
Only imagination,
For losing yourself to you,
To others, to memory,

And to imagination,
Memory’s shadow puppets.
Have we noted this before?
Right, we have. Haystacks, haystacks.

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