Here, I see us
as if we had lived
long long
ago
some detail
only an historian would know.
Our laughter
unknown now
only guessed at
or pieced(painstakingly)
together
meticiously ressembled
dead now
many times
but to this
man's gaze
who in his need
to know
the time
that was ours
reconstructs the sunlight
haloing your hair
the laughter of so
long ago
the sudden nakedness
of your shoulder
as a dress strap
falls carelessly
& except by me
is paid no attention to.
Now, in this time
where we no longer
exist
where the historian
tired of his research
goes home
to his wife and kids.
Still the trace
of us
clings
to cold historical fact.
The book
is given back
(signed back in)
the white gloves
returned
all facts
sleep on shelves
shelves after shelves.
The library
(for tonight)
is closed.
Dónall Dempsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/once-upon-a-now/
