a poem I wrote years ago

What is left of this river?

Nothing --- the destiny of a forgotten heart.
Isolation dries me raw
You can't believe it because you don't love
You love dryly, you tetchy fox
You love, you passionate woman of my heart
It's dry now, there's nothing left of this river
Where did you go when you forgot that river there?
Where did you swim to?
Did you swim at all or did you just walk?
Because there's nothing left of this river.
Did you swim away with the drought you brought on?
What branch of rivers would behold you into a fog of virgin air?
Un-breathed, untouched, and newborn.
Do things exist when no one views them?
Does my heart still idle in the sunken ground? That dehydrated ravine?
Where has my heart gone?
Will it prevail where it has?
When it lives by itself outside of me, will it mend without me?
How will I mend without my forgotten heart? Am I unforgotten then?
Come back to me.