I recall
her, nude,
her back toward me,
covered with symbols I would not
care to calculate my way through
until after, after;

then there
was the time she was not there
and I longed for symbols, for numbers,
anything at all; closed my eyes,
tried to remember, tried so hard
and nothing, nothing.

If only
I had a flashback engine to carry
my mind there, to the edge
of presence, to chug and huff
toward real memories and visions
or anything like them;

but now
that engine seems broken,
shattered or nonexistent — now
I am shattered myself or nonexistent.
Now is all I have. I don’t recall
the name for anything, especially her;

now seems
the eraser, the scrubber
of dreams and longing is all there is
to wrap myself inside, and I am left
bereft but somehow satisfied with that —
now I am parted from her, and so it continues —

brief pang
of longing, of mystery’s
dumb dim light on my ruined eyes;
wondering again
what name I should call her
should she improbably return.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T