Papers already darkened
deckled because of the many years
bear signs of a sole moment
of someone’s passage
that surely was mine
not a sound of it now
nor its entire land
whole as it had to be
at its age
with its leaves of that day
the barking not heard
in the distance
the silence in the books then

now the machine that does it
is taking the world away
just across the stream bed
at the foot of the garden
what can abide as we go
following those
who have forgotten
what is remembered altogether
eyes but not the seeing
often we did not know
that we were happy
even when we were not
how could we have told
at no distance

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