nothing hurts when you’re in emmarentia,
how could it? if it did, that’s proof enough
you weren’t really there, were you?
you were like one of those egyptian geese,
never really anywhere. as for me, i was
on those endless golden lawns
of lifeless grass, thinking of how little
i did to deserve it, emmarentia.
and i spent the whole day with my
sweater inside out, can you imagine?
the tag hanging out in back—i was in
holy places, you should know;
i was in parktown. and i still thought
of you—even here, even after all this,
it didn’t hurt to do it even,
emmarentia. thinking all the time,
what secret spirit drove me to this place—
out of the snow, no less, so many years
ago? so i hate to disobey my demons—
they knew me better than i could have known.
nothing hurts in emmarentia—
and i love you, i wish
you knew it.