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.