History follows me

History follows me.
While photographing stills,
A watchful memory:
My eyes over the hills...

Or, dissipating shame
Into alleys of fog,
I am stalked by the same
Emaciated dog...

If scars are the future,
I am paralyzed when,
Tearing each suture,
I think of it again.

Nostalgia for a love
I still would abandon...
My image, like the glove
I won't put my hand in...

I have no way of life.
No spirit to distill,
I will, after Lot's wife,
Remember what I will:

My reflection in May,
A dream from September...
But today is a day
I'll never remember.