Michael Ontdaatje (a few stanzas from Secular Love, replacing is with to as I recall a red moon)

I write about you
as if I own you
which I do not.
As you can say of nothing
this is mine.

When we rise
the last hug
no longer belongs,
to your fiction
or my story

Mulch for the future.

Whether we pass
through each other
like pure arrows
or fade into rumour
I write down now
a fiction of your arm