mnemosyna

καδδ' ἱδρως ψυχρος χεεται, τρομος δε
 πασαν ἀγρει, χλωροτερα δε ποιας
ἐμμι· τεθνακην δ' ὀλιγω 'πιδευσα
φαινομαι ἀπνους.
Sappho


let me not talk of dead loves














let me not talk of futures wind-swept 














of referential white














chrysanthemums and the scripture of your frowning forehead














(never will eyes darken like yours)





i understand that there may be constellations














beyond those on your skin 














and let me














not talk of eschatological late afternoons but














i remember yes it was december














the light fading with our hopes words














words 














your echolalia 














words words the world

blown to pieces














and you looked at me then looked out














the window














and said something 














as if life














were to go on.