Every year now, I note the differences:
the changes in the stones,
the retreating car park and what
is new to the waves.
It is slight. You try to hide it by
presenting the same places and
lacing them with memories that
all correspond.
But you are changing.
You take new beatings, and I can't
help but wonder if we are alike.
The process of erosion has caught
us both, and year by year,
cliff by cliff, it's wearing us down.

It was always supposed to happen,
but what if you change too much?
What will happen when you change
irreparably, irreconcilably?
Even now you are only an
imaginary home, so defamiliarized
from the dream I demand.
I know you promised me nothing.
But I had a deal you didn't know about
and you've ceased to make me happy.
I can't help but be a little angry
with you for letting the
storm break you down.

But is it really you, or is it me
who has done the changing?
Is it not my eyes and my erosion?
Is it not the attrition and abrasion
and the long shore drift
that has welled up inside my own soul?
Is it you or I?
How can we know?

Down deep below the dirt, there rests a body
It rots and wreaks and rests beneath the wood
With tree roots ripping through, from pine so knotty
The daylight proves I'm just not any good

I rest behind the stones and little insects
They rub me raw until I'm only bone
Eating my flesh and muscles til there's none left
Leaving a skeleton beneath the stone

I rot under a tree with a long shadow
The sun shall cast a darkness over me
Leaving me cold and frightened here, down below
As my death pumps its life into this tree

Forget the stars, the sun, the moon, and the sky
Forget the world, and just remember me
Forget your life and all your reasons why
Just give to me your final memory