Stalled eyes. Wandering
upon a lonesome. Meandering
where thoughts consider
unspent moments, beneath
grey weather. Here, your
reflection burns a hole,
your eyes have run ahead,
upon this road that we
were both meant to dread.
Lingering hours. Tresses that
fall back in flooding wind.
A scent caught. Tearstains
brought. Down, onto your effigy
that burns, a former mile
leaving flesh tangled
in a reverie’s whirlwind.
I remember, while I stay
to dismember bare, listless
clouds. Blank, white vapor
exiting from God’s lungs.
Spaces this unneeded. Graces
where we heeded unkind,
stagnant remorse.
I want your eyes to fall down
to know those dead,
placed inside earth. Forgotten
leaves, always upright,
never overturned.
Modern Romanticism 