I write in the trance of triangular years
whose reverse-osmosis has done but clear
the last memories I held dear

and somewhere along the line of
perpendicular feelings, Love
found its nesting in my heart like a dove
seeking the shelter it was deprived of

because maths and science concretize
my malady. Brittle beings, they vaporize
like mist exhaled for exercise.

These faces I try to exorcise
are the only ones I recognize