They say "let bygones be bygones."
But How could one let go of a clock
To which one referred to—time.
Though I believe in forgiveness
History as is—is a tree
For a point cannot be seen—
Without salts in the seas.

It's my own fault
For allowing myself to feel

It has all been said,
a line, a word, a dull phrase,
yet you're everything.

In A Cloud Of God

I meditate
In a cloud of God,
The phrase enticing,
Spicing up my inner vision,
Paradis-ing selfsame vision
Into supervision.
This decision to be deep in thought
That isn’t thought exactly
But a tactful way to find the mind
Without a wandering in imagery,
Colloquially speaking,
And between you, me, i.e. we, us
Who chance to meet on this  
Our [quasi] paper
Is escape of noblest kind,
Leading blindly on pure trust
To someplace nice – yes, nicest!

In A Cloud Of God 11.13.2017
God Book II; The Processes; Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin

I thought
every word
every phrase
every thought
that got you amazed
set your heart ablazed

was written for me.

I guess
I should've read further on.

You looked at me in that way
That a dog stares helpless
At the unrelenting traffic passing by.

You looked at me, and the gusts
Of winds blowing this/that way,
Seemed a bit more certain and sure.

You stared at me, trying not to
Linger on my eyes, and opened
and closed your mouth, almost saying.

You, again, and forever,
Walk away, and before you leave
You turn and make time shatter between us.

And you mumble something,
Under your breath, I can only understand
"What do I know
Oh god
What do I know"