Late Saints
After Milton

What's gone is gone, and yet it does not go;
Loss lingers in the dark streets of the mind.
In that submerged embrace of dreams you'll find
A wealth of those beloved long ago:
Some time erased, some lightly dashed the glow
Of love to quit you, others still remind
You that, flawed as you are, you were inclined
To lose them from the start. Loose ghosts, they flow
Against you, a rough current of regret
As you wade up toward waking life, still weighed
With heavy burdens, love's increasing debt
Of pain that never seems to get repaid,
Until you fear you'll honestly forget
Among the faces that you've loved, some stayed.

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