Love
—as Memory
Any river carries the shapes of all the bodies only so long as the bodies remain. Remove flesh from river, let the divers recover—and the river heals itself, refuses to imagine the next one who jumps or slips or is thrown— In this way is a book like love: It will hold the memory of the bodies—be infused, absolute. Burn them, send the ash to fall from the sky and still— Ash arrives at the river and the river makes way. The ash tastes of fire and the river wonders about burning— this thing it can see, but never have, never be.