Those of you who've gone before how precious
you remain how little your essential nature
has altered and insofar as it has I can't grasp
how you might be other than you ever were
surely you aren't wholly "gone" though that's
undeniably your essence now to have gone
surely you haven't even metaphorically risen
or descended it's just that you're not available
to those left behind unavailable for what
except the generation of future memories
I don't know that's the painful aspect of love
gone to no longer generate memories to share
here we laughed here danced all falls away
only the tattered snatches of what we call past
echo out from the isolate provinces of time
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