Memory

I look at the one I love,
never changing, always the same,
by the hour, minute, and seconds.

Persistent memory,
root of permanence,
its fruit, illusion.

I look at the one I love,
ever changing, never the same,
by the hour, minute, and seconds.

Illusion of memory shattered!

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with it's sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

~R. M. Rilke~

Until....