in parentheses

Because the river makes no sound for you, it can only wake, like the past walking with you, going before you. Because how many memories must you remember to get it out of you? Who was like a mother to your love and a name to all the quiet of your living. Who was a hero you named Love and a god you named John. Who was like the night over the country by the river, but then a husband in your love. Because the river makes no sound for you anymore, it can only wake, like the ghost walking with you, standing beside you. Because what can love say to its own ghost? Mama…