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)

we are weeping, over what? The details
are not commensurate with the emoting eye, rubbed dry.