Deconstructing Prospect Park

Sitting here, I keep a dead oath alive
I should have, lying threadbare beside me
in her way, she, who knew me
out of purified dust constructed us
She who, in my way, I knew withal

To abandon this, our hallow ground
speckled with dead dream leaves
would be to live—to break a promise
that isn’t mine, that wasn’t ours, we
never agreed, I have, never agreed