If I Let You Go, You Slip Into the Fog,...*

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503

remembering forgotten friends
surely you have changed the nature of the problem
the melancholy square becomes a circle
while we twirl presuming change
our fatigued eyes starved for the sublime
our amputated thumbs
twitching, having no inkling
of the accidents of memory
we devote ourselves to descriptions
of various ordeals
and the particulars of religion.
we soon become ridiculous in our
dislike of the thing.

504

the uncertainty of shadows
overcomes us
our nightbirds fly into tomorrow, leaving
us to find our appropriate suns
we consult the book of combinations
but see no example
we wander, dazed, through love
but too soon it all falls apart, too,
leaving us to face
the prospect of another year.

*Kate Bush