Memory

You spoke as something older, different, eternal, as if you've come from a different earth;
too aware of our humanity.

I once thought of you as lost,
but perhaps you were only well hidden.

I said "don't follow" but you are the stream
that made its way into the land of drought.

Today I'd hope to bleed you out in ink,
yet I find. that you remain
the objection in my mind,
my heart's contradiction,
and the root that drives itself deeper.