You are gone from me and there’s no point trying
to entice you back to the fleeting shore
of salty allusions or well crafted memories,
these vain attempts to figure out what is
already known—there is a deep elusive sea
at the center of creation and it keeps us thirsty
to sustain the mirage—you were only another
imagining, seemingly more fertile, more muscular
than the others, but you were always the same
impotent poem; you ended and refused to be re-written.
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