of us, knowing our ends, sighs finished float upstream
of you, knowing your beginnings, flashes of flyblown leaf dropping into the paling autumn
of i, wording it fresh out of unapologetic twinges, dropping signs on the world, their sorry beckoning
of us knowing our ends shying away from a once-told beginning when silence fell on our bodies, it is much more telling than the last word unheard by the sky.