You say, 'oh,
Come kiss me in
the spring time when all the trees are blue,
when the flowers in the meadow, lovely, start over
again,
like me, like me,
like me, like you'—
'There’s just too much time slipping since I’ve been out
wandering, and,
oh, there’s just too much time passing since I’ve been
gone'—and
I think that maybe
if we all stayed young without noticing that would solve it, but
I know somehow our minds finding a way back would—
Here—
To the big round ikea Raymor container, glowing life urban
outfitter’s bulb, where there’s just too much wasted time to empty out, that—
Eventually—with no recourse—
It’s scattered ashes everywhere
where we’re going.
