An old feeling, carried through the years

            with what you thought was certainty.
                          One day, it just happens—the tether

loosens. The habit of always looking
            back gives way to a resignation.
                          The poets still sing of great,

unquenchable loves; of a city 
            lost in mist that the fragrance of
                          a single peach on a table could evoke. 

The boat cannot find its way 
           back to that current. Another love 
                         beckons, another love holds you here.

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