Appreciation through absence.

Reminder through removal.

The ironic tendency of funeral hymns

to revive our valuation

of yesteryear's sensations.


The echoes seem always more precious

than the naked shouts -

a sobering indication

of what's left -

as the future waits to be dressed

in retrospect.

It's why I hate having had you,

and having had to

have written this present-day piece

at half its potential value.

So I'm clawing my way

back dimensions, to God,

when Nothing was All

and 'When' wasn't real.

Where we can remain

unborn thoughts, together,

unfettered by the power

to remember.

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