I won't be anyone you ever
spoke to or fell asleep beside
or wakened to. I won't be sorry
for you, I won't take your hand
or come forward and touch
your hair or kiss your cheek.
There, between the two sullen elms
without leaves, the ones that died
years ago, do you see a shadow?
It could be the birth we gave
back to the rain. It could be
the silence after love or just pain
without hope or the need to dance.
It looks alive, even in the darkness,
it looks as though it were growing
smaller and smaller, but it's
not a patch of snow. It could be
a whisper, a secret never kept,
everything your heart knew
and you forgot. Don't ask.
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