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  Today began yesterday: 

  I read far more than I intended, 

  But the texture of having lived 

  The same life under two skins 

  Was not easily set aside. 

  In the dream that remains 

  From 1966, there is a darkhaired girl 

  Reading in a tiny winter bedroom 

  Under a bold blanket checked with 

  Six inch red and black squares. 

  You understand that I am largely no 

  Different now than then, as 

  I understand how much remains of 

  Life lived in you. 

  We cannot cast each other out 

  Into that again, so we will not, 

  Even in the face of sorrow and 

  Imperfections of making do. 

  The dreams of lostness and 

  Danger are the common ground 

  We've walked, paced, trampled, 

  Rolled blindly upon to 

  Put out the flames. 

  They are our heritage and we 

  Now parcel them out between us 

  Like Roman coins, a Caesar for you, 

  A Minerva for me. 

  We will go on together regardless 

  Of what the months or years bring 

  To pass as otherness: 

  That isn't even a promise, 

  Merely a simple fact based 

  In our very existence. 

  There are some loves 

  One cannot leave.

- David Mitchell

You Gave Me a Sheaf of Yellowed Poem

/indian woman at well image

Photograph by Uncle Jake

to David.  /  to Moongate