The things that made you
and undone you
are happening to me
perhaps to understand you
and why we need to feign
sympathy and apathy
But what do I do
with all these pedagogy
when life has already slipped
from my starving hands?
The enigma in your arms
Oh, how far is your sun?
All these answers are becoming
the luxurious, entropic death of me
Maybe, just maybe, one fine morning
the sun will shine on your gray face
so that I will not recognize
the mistakes that we’ve made
Norman Santos
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mistakes-were-made-3/
