She lost her gaze, Lost her place Among time's worn end To her life in the tallest grass That can ever reach her fingers above, Her corpse below. I bleed a sickness related to hers, As I set the bouquet down to my feet. Her eyes were mine in their capturing, While her lips were mine to kiss. I dream of an ocean without waves, Of the Earth without storms. I see the wilderness parted, Never the red of a thousand thorns. A thousand roses, A hundred petals, To the infinite Of a love that drinks deep its inner solace. I am the man who stands Above a grave, Watches the moon pass over My head, as I stay. Her stare gave me meaning To the eclipse, She said to the sun That it would not ever blacken. She said the words of praise To a light that could not ever Identity with the night. She lost her moment, Her flicker and her sound. She put out her torch, Buried herself in the ground.
Modern Romanticism 
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