Now its years since your body
went flat and even memories of that
are all think and dull, all gravel and glass.
But who needs them now --
displaced they're easily more safe --
the worst of it now: I can't remember your face.
For a while, with the vertigo cured,
we were alive -- we were pure.
The void took the shape of all that you were,
but years take their toll,
and things get bent into shape...
Antiseptic and tired, I can't remember your face.
You were supposed to grow old.
Reckless, unfrightened, and old,
you were supposed to grow old.
Return. You were supposed to return.