Of Will o' Wisps and Willow Trees

I ran across this poem buried in my Google Docs and I have no memory of writing it.  It's strange.  I found myself reading it as if someone else wrote it.  I know it's mine--I checked the edits.  I wrote it on September 8, 2019. ( I hope the man of 2019 doesn't mind the edits of the man of 2023 prepping it for this blog) I cannot tell who or what is the object of the speaker's apostrophe.  Who is the you? I don't know.  I have imbibed of the the waters of the Lethe while yet living--a sign of things to come if I follow my parents footsteps.  No matter.  Coming into existence eventually no longer depends on memories stored in the time-space brain which decays at death.  The poem, like me, is not worth remembering.  We are breaths--breaths of life.  We fill a body, we leave a body.  I have peace with that.   Compulsion Just what it is, I do not know, That draws me to you. A bright star?  But it is not your gravity....