The poem will not return with more words

It carries itself beneath your moments of hope

You sit senile, and only upon remembering

Does something return itself to you

But it hasn’t been what you meant; it gave itself a face for you

Refusal of memory does not exist

You take away the eyes of it and it asks a different question

You cannot hold the memory of love

It ensues itself in sacredness; love remains without humans impersonating a presence of it

But to have it bestowed; is the only importance; whether you can remember its impersonation or not

I did not sleep this time; imagining what her hope has situated for the love unshared

I did not say it to have meant it, I only thought of it enough

We call the sequence a prayer

A sacrament that has chosen itself before you