We who write poems
we who write poems
we who read them
spend lifetimes
and then, more lifetimes
trying hard as hard
as we can to understand
or at least, to pretend
to understand
to find words for what we remember
and then what we don't
want to remember.
After that
we do or don't make
sense of all those sheets
and mattresses
all those warm and cold
naked bodies
all those days
and what might have happened
if only
our words
had been
a little different