"In vain have oceans been squandered on you, in vain
the sun, wonderfully seen through Whitman’s eyes.
You have used up the years and they have used up you,
and still, and still, you have not written the poem."

- Jorge Luis Borges

I did. All forty-five of it, with one person sneaking in between every line like waves persistently knocking on shores.

These poems will never meet the eyes of the one who guided my hands; the one who sung the melody to which my words danced.