Even the words now are pictures, or
fixtures holding light, illuminating oil-stained paintings that darkness had drowned.
Exclusion of meaning was power, but all it destroyed now is found.
Meaning in words forms a tower, buckling with pressure it waves.
I hold my breath as it wobbles, as structure feigns to degrade.
I watch every shaking beam-length tremble then snap under invisible weight of doubt.
Like rays of our sun are your eyes furthermore, their radiance only temporarily put out.
Centuries of planning united, now threaten to sunder apart
the lifetimes we both used to build mortal city, formed with material from our own hearts.
I wanted to be certain I’m seeing what my eyes refuse to believe.
A city felled as a tree, lined by satin and your skin perfumed with dew.
Your three names were “I Love You,” bundled and thrown into a Spring grave.
Before, your mouth directed sailors to a shoreline without destroying their boats,
floatation swept from your eyes left every tired vessel afloat.
But now that your guiding-light is burned out, and our city is flat and deserted,
flotsam washes up on the shore, in the form of your words which I pass onward, evermore.