Greenwich
I live too often for the past, I know she'd say.
But I return there anyway.
A ghost from the future, in 1996.
The view has changed. And so has she. She's long gone
But I don't ever change. I stay the same; it's what I do.
I don't move on.
So I sit there on the grass, and I can see
The corpse of summers past, looking back, right through me.
I have become a cluttered box of orphaned dreams,
Forever left unspoken.
If I could touch them, hold them in my hands
Each wretched one of them would still be broken.
And I'm too bitter now to face the memories I pursue
I still can't live with what she did.
And what she didn't do.
1998
Like it.
I wrote my fair share of poetry, but it's all in Dutch and fairly abstract, no use posting it here. No translation would do it any justice