What Does to Did

Truth’s got no ontology.
If it works, if it functions,
That’s good as it gets with truth.

What doesn’t exist reaches
Long fingers back through what does,
Through what happened to what was.

There’s no disentangling that.
You can maybe read the tracks
Those digits make, reaching back.

You struggle with the double
Sensing memory forces
Out from your experience.

There are correspondences,
Things you remember you bump
Into as new memories

Every day, as if the same,
Or after years, changed but same,
Such that you can update them,

And there are things that exist
In memories you’ll never
Make newer memories of

Again, and you can’t always
Be sure if that signifies
Absence or coincidence.

Those are the tracks reaching back
From what doesn’t, and can’t yet,
Exist through what does to did.

The lake where you froze to death
Is here, is freezing again
And isn’t, is wavering.