Connection Myth

About my confusion —
Indecision and predicament

About this sense of drag
Of being dragged
From this here that I feel

By the commitments of the day
Away from this resting, unmoving quiet
Like a flower plucked from the stem
Its petals picked apart, blown in the wind
And all return to the stem
Tired and withered — at day’s end
And the same — the next day

Or maybe that’s not so

Maybe the flower does not get plucked
And only feels itself so

What would you say about this feel
You who no longer feel
No longer confused, unsure, undecided
No longer waiting to go
Expected —
No longer

But time for you
Is the same
As time for me

It’s withering you
As it is withering me

What then
Has changed — in both of us
Still affected by time

Is it not only that I care —
And you don’t

You no longer care about time
And I do

You no longer have that which cares — about being changed, moved, buried or burned
And here, there still is

The body — changes
Yours and mine just the same
By the sun, winds and fire

That’s just the outer change
Slower or faster

But what really sets us apart
I cannot touch it, cannot see it
This — that I know — is in me
And I see it not in you

But how could I see in you
What I don’t see in me

All I can touch, can see
Is your form
And you no longer see, nor touch mine

What then, did I see and touch — in you
Or you — in me

What then do I not see — in you
If I don’t see that same — in me
How can I say
That you don’t know that in you now
Just as I know that in me

What has changed — between you and me
What is it that I have retained — or lost —
Ad what have you kept and lost

And if there’s no answer I can find to this
Then it must be that
The question is false

Must it not be that — you have not lost nor have I retained
Must it not be that
Neither you nor I
Were there — in the first place
Real and true

And all that’s changed is
This

On the display of my mind
New days appear — with new scenes
With me — without you there
And you can never know
What those scenes and days
Contain

And

On the display of yours
New days appear — with new scenes
With you — without me there
And I can never know
What those scenes and days
Contain

But is that not how
It was, exactly —
Even when you sat before me

Only that then
The scenes in our displays
Contained scenes of one another

But the rest —
You could never see mine
I could never see yours
Just as it is now

So what if — you have moved on
If I have moved on

Even before
We were only companions — for but a fleeting breath
And I don’t know what those near me
What scenes — their displays show
Nor do they see, what shows in mine

Are we not
Even appearing as living — to one another
As much dead to one another
As you are — to me

Could it be

That it’s not you who has died
But it’s I that has died for you

And if so
What becomes of all those here
How can I say
That they are alive to me — any more than you are
Or I to them — any less dead — than I am to you