Sunday, October 20, 2013

Empedoclean Fragments



When you leave
this place,
I will write postcards
that I will not
send

to remember
the flickers
of time that I wanted to hold

your body           
                     to understand the silence,

how the world passes

into your lungs and out
again, parsing the bones

around your breath,
compelling
tidal force
for mine.

                Friend, you are
fleeting—
like light,
   a
                   glossy mooning
                                               orb.
    I am caught           reflected
    in its glassy spell,
    aware

                of the ground beneath us,
how it opens,
                how when you leave
                the flames
                                    will also.

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