Unsent Letter to Jakob

When the pills entered my life

I knew what to do, but I didn’t

know what to do when they stayed.

When I was young the river was just

the river. And now it’s still

the fucking river. On a Saturday,

last winter, the light changed. Every color

backed away into the past and became

all at once, incoherent, immutable.

There is no explaining it. All I know is that

neither of us could stop it. And I’m not sure

if I’m interested in stopping it. Not anymore.

Though I think of you all the time

my memories still vanish like salt. God

knows what is doing the vanishing—

my vague and ever-widening

insanity, the pills themselves. Someday soon

I will lose your hair, your ears, your hands,

the color of your first car, the first names

of your parents, and what’s left

after that? The fucked up trees?

The shitty sky? The long, cold river?