for what’s gone

by Arran James

The pain of love is the pain of being alive. It is a perpetual wound.
– Maureen Duffy

evaporating
what remains
a thin veneer
a skin of oil
stubborn in refusal
but collapse
is the fact
is the cold dead
truth of this

there you are
beside me
invisible to each other
as histories erase
and landfills rise
debris drifts
circling around debris

this is a mess
better to let it go
tear it down
better not to start again
better never to begin

but too late for that
so staple limbs together
cellotape the broken things
a surgery in the gutters
performed by no one
on the anonymity of love’s dying

and here i am still living;
an impossible thing,
bleeding on everything.

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