Oh, Jude, you look and search, though she is not
enframing in the window now, to chafe
the weathered love in you entombed. But safe,
you sit by vapid fire; remember thought,
and fate, and how you chanced it all for naught.
When she uncovered secrets, as a waif
she left you; homeless orphan, drink a wave
of memory; taste that for which you fought.
Why do you love the suffering - beget
it forth again? Again the salt is sweet
of tears, and pain reminds you of her smile.
Addiction found in this: this lonely isle,
this obscure land of memory. Though bleak,
you rummage in the past. Must not forget.
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