Europe, After the Rain

from Memoryhouse: Max Richter

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Suddenly torn

Our fates are joined, by acts
That only drive us apart;
So a little personal tragedy –
Perfectly, blindly, inexorably –
Has trashed us to the floor;

The ragged tear has left my soul
Imprinted with your heart;
The good you sparked – exhibited,
Striped, bled, dried, wasted bare –
Gone from me for evermore.

Afterwards

Dry leaves, blown on a wind
We can’t escape, of steady bearing,
Quickening speed; the growth of
Last year’s branches on the tree,

Once random, but now seeming
Straight, and pointing to the light;
Our memories shaped by that direction,
Our direction steered by memories.

We can’t rebuild our past
Though we reclaim it,
Descant refract and reinvent it,
Selectively forgetting and eliding

In our subtle shifting chemistry;
So in the shattered peace of our world,
Through misty dislocated harmony,
Can those pasts lie far behind?

What were those pasts, and when?
Laments for last year, as gaps
Which ‘could’ and might have been,
Had we not been ourselves.

3:1

Three very different people:
All with a certain innocence,
A childlike vulnerability,
That I have risked, and harmed;

And yet, I know I left them
Far better than I found;
I loved them so they could
Prosper, after I had gone.

Diverging, since her birth,
The pure and puzzled princess,
Shocked and angered, by my
Betrayal of her ideal.

Converging, on intersecting curves,
Touched with fire, and singular?
My muse and inspiration,
Outside of expectations.

While in our world, our parallel,
My anchor and support,
Sustaining, long-run potency;
I feel our love renewed.

And so, I know I’d leave you
Far better than I found;
I loved you so you can
Prosper, after I have gone.