She's like an old song I barely remember
that puts me back in time, back to when
it meant something, back into illusions
and fictions that I believed would save me.
She's like the way the books used to smell
when I confused their secrets, the way memory
floods the senses, how the fragments of life
resemble something different with each reading.
Let the old song move me out of history,
and into an eternal present, let the scent
of lost flowers be where I put my trust;
Let the recollections bring me salvation
beyond myself, let the magic I've forgotten
dissolve this misery I have imagined.
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