The trill of the violin's note
extends like a grim kiss asking
me to remember. The devil's
music in a photograph. How happy
the trees look amongst the ruins
of the past.

How much space it has traveled,
The light that escaped from us?
Or did it never left the earth
and it is repeating itself.
Us, like ghosts behind the walls.

You know, it's been
a dim colored world, the future
unfolding as I dare to take
another breath. You must be
loving, I hope. Otherwise,
it is madness, what a waste of pain.

Perhaps your many faces
will never leave, but I feel
like I can grin and bare it.
Maybe that's all there is now,
the living memory of yet
another impossible flower.

In a great sea of unknown,
what does it mean that
shadows are all around
trying to grab light
from each other.
The hands are tied
behind all their backs
but they act the same
like they are saved.
Words can do that.
Like doors, until you open them
nothing exists behind,
like the cat in the box.
Werner would be proud of me.

A moment, time that extends over
the horizon like an infinite second.
Today, past, and present, all choices
becoming one mashed up in timelessness,
and there are those who act like
it never happened, negating the miracle
innumerable times.

What it would come down to for us?
Fear can hold you. That leaves us here,
now, like this, denying the existence
of that flicker when our eyes met.

And how will they be living, our other selves,
in the alternate reality that was created then.
Will they be happier?