Becoming Ungoing

Can the infinite causes
that make up the exact cosmos
of the forest floor be determined,
or are some things
too complicated to explain?
We all have a dream that’s impossible
to relate in the morning,
something at the back
of what we want to describe.

For months afterwards I had
dreams of possessions,
lost and scattered throughout
abandoned rooms in ruined buildings.
Ancient toys and key-rings from childhood
jumbled with bills and postcards from last month.
Books stored unordered everywhere,
in unfamiliar corridors
and stacked on tables in my old school.

What were the dreams trying to tell me,
other than to show that loss
is felt keenly at first, then softly –
like your watch coming loose
in the sleeve of your coat?

Memories interject
like voices from another bar.
There was always something
in the background
that couldn’t be shaken off,
something unexpressed or inexpressible.
How you said of a song that the composer
must have been through some terrible experience –
sensing the trauma in the music
as if it were there for all to hear.

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