Some blended oceans,
some crisscrossed goodbyes
heard at this awakening
to a sun on another side
that did not drift,
quick with what rested
as our hands parting like
angel wings, cut free,
for our stagnant sleep.
Close with what never
closes, while doors are held
open, while leaves take their journey
across floods. For oceans
to believe in, for sadness
to confide with, we have held
those final hours close.
We have kept our yearnings
at their correct dose.
Love never rained,
as often as it needed
to water our depleted gardens,
to remind us of those blankets
of connecting soil,
of those that gave us entrance
to those extra pages
that were soundless in description,
that were voiceless
in representation.
I’d like to know
if you married your eyes
with that glass. A mirror has
portrayed you, beyond flesh,
beyond your flame’s extinguishing
into death. A lone light,
from your heart has given
both of us our declaration
to run far from winter
into a summer that never ends,
while our scars are fissures,
our tears act as ropes.
Modern Romanticism 