They won’t let you reunite if the band hasn’t broken up
They had entered her head
during the night, these leaves of loss
and shame. Written unsteadily on discarded
memories and stacked on the umbrella stand kept
at the door, a box of forgottens
and never weres.
She shuffled through them in her
sleep, tracing the paths of broken bonds
to fifty years from five ago, disparate futures where
they hadn’t separated. Or
recalled with clarity the time spent in elementary hallway,
sobbing from harsh words spoken when they caught her
shaking the hourglass, cheating at learning.
A musical note was sounded, a recurring
discordant, and they retreated from her, avoiding
the car crash of the morning sun, back into
synapsed dark where, left alone for the next twelve hours
they rewrote and waited, an artificial intelligencia,
subconscious illuminati. Their controller
awoke, copper taste in her mouth, and an
unsettled feeling of walking over her own grave.