Come Back to Me

Metaphor is shadow.
Near me, it keeps its distance.
It lays down beside me, too,
as if I am a sundial
confessing a different time.
I struggle to grasp it,
grant it touch before it trails off.
I am wrestling for a universe against all the worlds
that don’t exist,
but sometimes, I think, they do
as they pass through, the numinous, the love
or the spoor of memory
that sees the hunter backtracking
through the accents of the river,
who has it recall
that he might have been the river.
I want to tell you the thing I want
to hear myself say.
I will make you to be this letter
and each line will be a line
that you cross over, and failing,
you will fall, and you will fall,
into this envelope.
It will be sealed, and for a minute,
it will be sent away,
until I taste the glue again.

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