the door itself
makes no promises.
it is only a door.
however we may scream we are
Well, that's finished. The woman who cherished
her suffering is dead. I am her descendant
I love the scar-tissue she handed on to me,
but I want to go on from here with you
fighting the temptation to make a career of pain.
this we were, this is how we tried to love,
and these are the forces they had ranged against us,
and these are the forces we had ranged within us,
within us and against us, against us and within us.
Don't let me go
Don't let me die Do you forget
what we were to each other
photograph credited to her.