is this life my life
if this life is my life
where is my other life
the one from before
my horseman was not headless
bodiless sometimes
but not headless
. . .
sometimes
I remember my parents
more distinctly more vividly
than main characters in the best books
I’ve ever read
I remember them deeply
sometimes
. . .
the curse
I always remember
perhaps that is the body
of the headless Flemish soldier
there were so many dead
after each battle
and in the streets
and back allies
I hated to go outside
. . .
and yet here I am
in this life
voracious
for
more