I suppose I could number the days,
all the way back to you.
I could count through the history of pain;
remember how we used to.
I know I could draw the lines,
connect the dots
around your face.
An image seized by time
I’ve (never) tried to replace.
Every detail into every minute
I never could escape.
Why is not the question,
the wonder’s just too great.
Days when dreams like this unfold
outnumber those that don’t.
And tho’ I could number the days,
I suppose I won’t.