memory games

I would say I'm sorry.
Given the chance,
I would say I'm sorry.
But that's because it's now.
In an hour, maybe even a few minutes,
I won't care.
I will emerge from memory
numb again to past decisions.
But right now--
these minutes of aftershock
from a triggered sense,
the sound of a song we claimed "ours,"
or a letter I found
with a picture of you--
I would say I'm sorry
and ask you for a second chance.
I'm in the past.

Not for much longer . . .
I'm re-reading now,
fighting the urge to edit, now erase.
And now laugh--
"He wishes the past different!
As though his wanting now
could be his wanting then!"
I chastise the me of five minutes ago,
chastising the me of five years ago,
a fool to play with time.