Anamnesis

Creosote tar, ashen silt on asphalt,
the creak of an oak falling far off
being the cry of her in love. Remember
this when the wheels fall off,
when the keel shifts slow to dock

and night removes from dusk.
Day does not bring these tragedies
home. And you, still in love
yet distant in the shadow of love,
blank as a snow drift drifting.

Covered by the truest daze, steady,
and not the last of the many
that would not be enlightened:
Noah in the flood, Moses on the rock,
Jesus launching his slanted syllables.

What love will you bring to the city?
Falling towers? Light?A spring dawn
on the nape your neck?
Solar panels will flash and hum
to complete the lunar silence.

Backward of her, love is the wet
of a fuck on an April lawn,
where torture bears name and green
is the only shade that separates.
Fully in the whims of her youth,

now recalled with you there.
Her breath flailing like cursive,
italicised in the hush of a breeze.
Distant, distant, distant.