reflections in shadows of former identities are
part of the mystery that unfolds when i
sit here and try to remember what you
looked like on those last days
before i died.
a cemetery is a place
where the living come to think of
and remember the dead, so you say...
but i tell you, it is the place where the dead sit and think
about the living.
we crave to be amongst you again.
i have nothing but faded ideas,
powerless memories which are now imaginations
of what it felt like to hear you,