Jung said we don't change our problems,
only our perception of them. You tell me this
half a life later. I want to say, I would have died
for you then. My problem. We have history together,

you say, tucking my photograph back into its place
between lovers in your dated album. History, yes

I remember the night you put your fist through
a darkened window when you thought I wouldn't
keep my promise: forever, always. I walked away
to save my life, without you. Youth, you tell me,

a tender time. Souls entangled, I want to say. Golden cords
strung out heart to abandoned heart. Fated, unbroken.

Late winter now, across a cold black sky I watch the stars
make their solitary journey home, disappearing
at the edges into God's arms, perhaps. Like us, I think

and all old lovers.