These images, this
love grows shattered
between us.
What never was
always refuses to return
What never was
always burns
what could grow
between us.

Nothingness is
pregnant with misery,
questions and answers
buried under
sand and cries of wind.

Questions may never
know their answers
when estranged by distance.

Questions once
estranged make more
questions and such questions
multiply unimpeded,
until they starve themselves
for lack of answers.

Your answer suspends
itself as gold,
in the pendulum of
infinity, the treasure
immense, far beyond
any such reach as you,
yourself could ever allow.

You could bring
our love to deliverance.
You could crash the famine
between us. You could
reconcile the answers
and resolve the questions.
Once quenched, these questions
cancel their thirst.

We could be disastrous together
or I could be a disaster
alone. But, this is the world our love
lives in:

Our children that may
never be,
that we may never have, putrefy in
nothingness of bone.

Our words that we may
never utter,
gallop upon the
hooves
of failed horses.

The kisses that may never meet,
that we may never share,
stir upon frozen waves
of reflectless waters.

This house, our love
which never stood,
waits to rise, vacantly
in a forest of nothing.