Revisited

Some things

are not

to be revisited,

though they ping ever so

insistently from the corners

of my mind.

To think

that in days gone by

it was only the memories

that remained, allowing healing

change

progress

to happen,

and so becoming a bit newer 

day by day. 

But here, I know

exactly where to find

your imprint

fresh as if pressed today;

the forever present

tense

that I so hate

drawing sandy figure-eights

in me where I 

let no one see, and

dragging pieces back

out to sea, and

blending my edged heart

with the empty wildland

surrounding.

I feel your immediacy,

then bury

the relics

unburied.

Some things are not to be

revisited;

I’m sure it is those

that want to be.