… the saying of you remains the living of you
never to be said.
You, I mutter, you, you, you, as if to keep
you near. It’s now become a mantra, an ohm to help me sleep,
murmurs to fool the memory, a make-believe,
a dream. If I deceive
myself, I think, you’ll live. You’ll live.
And as for me? The mantra-you? This you you you
ensures that I survive.