Every echo is a memory
a trickster that would taunt me
an assassin sent to haunt
my waking day.

I listen carefully
it sounds the same
my voice
my name
it cannot be
but
I
let the echo free
and so it can

What if noble man is
the ECG
the fruit that falls in winter
from an echo tree

Do
you
hear me?

Of course you do

what the echo knew
and I just realised is
the image of me fading
In the echo of her eyes
and I
will I go on?
will I become the echo
of the boy
I knew as John?

as long
as long is long
I think
and think that
I'll go on
and on.