Another Way to Grieve

Memory is like a bas relief, incised –
idealized – coolly softened by
the passage of your past innumerable
lives: most too entirely forgotten
to be anything but foggy metaphor

for “heart”: soft erosion is what crafts
its lore, and art: long implosion
of whatever once was fashion makes,
creates its enigmatic style: passion
mutates: remnants of it while away

the endless afternoon. There’s a boon,
a beauty here you feel so intimately
that you almost cannot bear it. Dare it
to come back. Ha. It cannot leave.
Maybe it’s another way to grieve.

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