I could see it all in due time,
The corridors closing in a rush,
Her heart opening up like a window,
Eyes pointed meekly toward the sacred sky.
We waited silently in a dark wood.
What must come will come.
There is a story we must tell
To keep memory as sharp as a needle,
But its shapes are prone to shifting in the wind.
From the first steps in the corridor
I’ve tried to know it all again.
Forgetting is betrayal.
From photograph to watercolor,
Once-hard edges blur, the cost of truth
Weighing on me like nightfall.
But the filament that holds me to you
Still creates some light after all these years,
Enough to keep me up at night,
Enough to watch over the living.