The end of this particular love happens quietly

The end of the particular love happens quietly. The kill is clean. 

It oves away, deep into forgetting. I wish I could follow, just to see the  ripples, a backward mind trick, a song played in reverse.

Even when time seems to have  forgotten, rearranging the shelves of the things easily replaced in a way I wish I could mimic but my heart doesn't work that way.

Moving down river, open water...So much of this world ... We simply cannot replicate what we do make. 

There is no cast to make duplicates. And the sound is the river closing over the dead is calm.