Deliberate, liberate,
feed jealousy
its cold stones,
and herd obedient sheep
past those markers
scattered on littered pavement,
while all that walks backwards
is time’s limping shadow.
To our memories, never remade
without another thought
to dispense. Into subtle delusion,
we go, we row
all these thoughts into absence
and snow.
To images, to heaviness,
a joyous leap elsewhere
no moon ever stares.
I found you, bleeding in quietness,
Where you found me,
a heart had already been lost,
discovering itself
tumbling with bleak filth
down a mountain’s coldest side.
To keep holding this heat,
as if precious flame, a close embrace
cannot be extinguished to countless rain,
we admit to favor a cost,
a state that had been lost,
a tunneling highway
with dirges sung on either side.
Modern Romanticism 