It’s Time We Thought More of Them

Than would I the dull, gone eyes.
They used to scour rain but chose
To be like flags. No, that’s wrong.

Don’t rub it out. That’s a lie
On top of what was just wrong.
They’re out there, they’re all that’s there,

Your pasts and our pasts. You can’t
Get rid of them. You will just
Make more of them to hide them.

Who knows how they go at last?
More and more mean less and less,
And what is of what was crowds

Out the rest of what was, then
Some things that were now were not.
Those are them, the souls of loss,

Of deep sleep and death, all those
That don’t show in mind or math.
We should save them since you can’t.