I see you there at the end

        of the bridge, you so short.

             Your eyes pierce my chest

        like mirrors, and I feel the pain

        with Present’s kiss, again and again.

             O, even now, I wonder, now,

        where were you?—where were you

        when I fell down the drain

        and spilled my sentiments

        all over the floor, bloody and raw.

             I miss you here, where I am now;—

        and I think it’s tears I desire most,

        but my eyes are locked with Past’s helm,

        and all I can do is watch you there,

        at the other end of the same bridge.

        So I hope you see me where I am:

        the dust has begun to collect,

             I can hardly see; but you down there,

             you remind me of the moon—

             a light which guides the blind man,

             even though he has only carved circles.