THROWS OF THE EYE
Don't leave me, wherever it is that I was
(once) someone, why would I want to be anyone now?
Have we finished damaging each other? Footage
of the hayfield, rooftops, smoke from the burning grass
and village, village,
come near. Without you, how can I tell you nothing.
What? As much as a word in writing deciding
it means something, by itself. For a song
is used to say for as much as nothing, I lived my life.
The movement from one line to the next, text.
Resolved to a dew, Hamlet says, playing on "adieu."
For the moment, anyhow, I cannot imagine
the pain that prevents you from sleeping
when all the while (for a little while)
are not commensurate with the emoting eye, rubbed dry.