I just want to go back to the before,
back when the strength of your love

came through in the squeeze
of your hand, warmth coursing

through to mine. I don’t see a river,
I can’t find a boat. I don’t even know

if I want to ferry you back. A one
way crossing, it feels like a two way

mirror: surely you can see me here
in my despair? I have no tip, there is

no boatman. I take frequent trips
into the depths of my mind, meet

dogged emptiness, three headed
regret. I am the only judge. Tell

me, are there fields where you are? Do you
forget my name, my face? Does it feel like

a blank slate or a palimpsest?
I am told that I will know you

like a bird knows a tree top
when we meet again. I wait.