Space between dust of me
Running through an hourglass of grief.
Poignant in all the rush,
A journey within despondency.
You hold your cup,
Weeping for one mile after another
While the waters fade beneath our feet.
Toss your coin, the one you keep
At the summit of all your vanity
The world sees as your third extremity.
I can hold this hand before I sleep –
Feeding my eyes into your sunlight,
Washing my hands in the gaslight,
The manipulation where we smear our years,
Divided on the lakes, between our tears.
Can you hold your own,
Sweeping ourselves into the sunset?
Toss your coin to the naked river,
Revealed at the grief
From where you marked your disbelief.
Does the moon anchor you, the giver –
To the struggling sunrise?
Shed skin, for hope to open itself
Even upon crippled wings.
Steal the light for our starving lips,
That we might kiss before it slips.
Modern Romanticism 