Synapse

I look back and see that my postings
are only a means to keep me connected
to those that cannot stay
and those I would love to be with.
All I ever intended was to find that way.

Majka

Kontemplacija, Ivan Meštrović

In me you carved yourself.
How betrayed you must have felt to have discovered,
and to have been discovered by,
this separate stranger.
Had this child become an adversary?
Had she become another woman?

Even your memory is extravagant.
You were so wonderfully exaggerated,
at once terminally alien and infinitely joined.
Did that spirit transcend you?
Does it live with me now?
You lived in search of one more chance.
Was I that opportunity?