For now, there are love songs
to be read in a whisper,alone,
written in the times before
he heard her name, her voice.  

Knowing they don’t belong to him,
even as the wildest of prophecies,
makes them somehow more potent,
defining her as well as a cup of coffee.  

Two incarnations from now,
if they haven’t found themselves
standing in the same place and time,
perhaps he’ll consider forgetting her.