The pretense of knowledge is unlimited.
The mathematician says "interpolate",
The therapist says "reflect"
The doctor says "diagnose".
And we smile, joyfully, joining the illusion.
It was so long ago, across the pond dividing the park
Where we first played, knowing all there was to know.
No glass breaking, no shouting in our ears,
Wistful silence breeding a frenzy of fingers, lips, tongues.
Our smiles shimmering like the pond itself.
It is no use to praise the listless, useless past.
The past could not tell me that you would leave,
And leave so noisily, hasty, so dirty.
You took your life as if all we were together was written in pencil,
Waiting to be erased, leaving a smudge where there was a smile.
And I pretend, even now, to know.