By definition

By definition I am
something that recycles thoughts
I have overheard while passing
through the doors of
buildings and a thing that whittles
time from the day's sunlight
and thinks it is not
quiet as spectacular a feat
as the way tomatoes
can resurrect the dead
memories inside a person
I love and barely know; it is
an elastic thing that has repercussions
and reasonings and seasons
that drift away like bitterness
over the march of time.
I am by definition colder
than I was three months ago,
in the spring when the snow
still made the nights reflective;
I know less and feel more
and have a suspicion that this
is the beginning of an apocalypse
of words; they will not come
around anymore or sit with me
when I am alone and lying
between two cold sheets.
They will not have been
saved, as the others were.
Simply and easily they will
die as soon as I let them.