but every day

oh Life
the things you’ve stolen

just keep ’em
they weren’t really mine
just borrowed to the last

my tendency to think of things as permanent when they are not?
it’s all just so much amplitude
that ebbs and flows with time

and every night the shadows and the ghosts
and bits of every fear that ever struck me in the face
come round my way to see if they
might still have power here

but every day the dream comes back that
Life, you like to tease me with

and what is felt and known
is true and real
although provisional

for what is here, is here;
and what was here,
is here

as well

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