Clockwise
Towards the direction
Of your sunset,
Of your
Believing in the afterlife,
Before the journey
Divides its mile
Between us.
The less likely
The pain shall discover us
Once more, without the caress,
Without the shell
To take us
Beneath where winter freezes
The trees into shadows –
As we lose
Infinite breath
On the shapeshifting pathways,
On the curving highways
Drinking the evening’s melt
For waters we once knew
Were there, when we knelt –
To deny our cost
Of our heart, found and lost
With connective heartbeat
Synchronized
With rhythm that never matches
The destruction that resuscitates us.
Modern Romanticism 