Agree with this

"after withering to the floor, consider that you once stood."

It's a call to come back, I think. I like the middles and the edges, wanting her to see the "why," to keep sorting the middles.

"the sweeping scythe of time"
"surrounded by the blanket of your hair"

The birds, the birds, what finer form of life!

A good tribute and also honest

She was good at perspective and shading and stuff
She was good with colour, but it wasn’t enough

She must have been a good wife

You call it "false memory" and I hope it is. Otherwise it's a morbid, but uniquely phrased, look back. Perhaps a mind like mine; it can go either way.

ah, not so, not so, not so.
much to say, just play, I say
some holds sway, some sinks away
take the fun, don't run, you're no bum

they carry a boy to his first filled lungs--it works well. his confusion unresolved . . . too late to say goodbye--rather glib, I think.

Climbing a mountain, my consciousness waned into delirium. and I could not fees my toes. Lack of thought unsought. Coming down, reality returned, and the end of one tow was black.

Peter writes, “As you come to him [Jesus], the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to him—you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house.”

Is it a fancy flight, a metaphor? a fractal? or can consciousness be squeezed from a real stone, eons ago in some primordial soup?

Dismal take on life. Everything ends in death. btw, a twist of the pliers fixed me faucet, and a piece of me torn away saved my life. I too have looked at it both ways.

Rocky Mountain high
says John Denver
you not far from never
odd to introduce God
high elevation
work hard there
that's the high

yes I would. I'd use everything inside your head. If only I could.

Judging from link link in your comment, I think that repetition in your poem refers to musical repetition. Otherwise, I would be drawn to assembly lines or women who don't listen and simply repeat themselves. And what is the product of the musical repetition? You don't say.

Frost says, "and many miles before I sleep"
"and many miles before I sleep"
and that works for me.
It changes the doer, revises his attitude.

For all the comments you have left here in the past few days, most of them finding some good, refusing to inflict a harsh remark, I wish you finding stars in dark skies, finding love that holds, and find the "you" you are looking for.

Your love is something I do not want. Take him. Do what you want. But this sounds codependent and mutually destructive. Nevertheless, you've said it well.

I imagine this being about poems that write, usually after considerable wine, and read the next day before they have escaped to somewhere, and they are like cockroaches--slimy infectious creatures. I keep them though, tuck them away for they are part of me, and in the right light and the right revision might become. Become what? Nothing probably, but who knows.

A poetry workshop this evening
allows bringing an outside poem
bringing yours, I requested comments
giving no personal info on you,
and none of our discussion.

They thought the first verse joins the title somehow.
they say it describes Nadine,
that she or it, is a bit wild.

Something happened, they say, before the third verse
something that lasts forever, and is always remembered
so the apparent redundancy of the two words is not.

The last verse, they said,
reinforces importance of the memory.
they like this verse best.

The "quantum" verse was not well understood
nor do I fully get it.
but memory is like that,
takes metaphoric form sometimes
a life remembered as a rainbow
something in quantum space

She must be or have been a fierce woman, a crashing wave. Remembered and folded, now written about. Or I could be completely wrong. Just a first impression