Athena, Holding Your Hair, Whispering In Your Ear

For me a few are enough, one is enough, none is enough. This is not for the many, but for you. We are audience enough for each other.

I can't remember anything at all,
every day is twenty, one, or none,
It's spring (again, again) but when was fall?
And will we fall (again) before we're done?
We shrink inside ourselves or, wrathful, seethe;
the climate of our hearts can't lift the curse,
whether in hope continuing to breathe,
or with relief that it has not been worse:
the lucky ones just wither, others bleed.
Give thanks it has not taken even more.
Now chase the shimmer, watching it recede,
now crawl (again), no closer than before.
The end will come (again) in its own time;
would that it comes before I come to mine.