Its funny how it goes,
how within the throes,
of passion and of death
One is aside,
another gains breath

I leave with a stumble,
and a look behind.
And I find myself fumbling,
for cleanliness, and absolution

And to the One
who was shuffled
and moved,
with wires crossed--

I do not know the meaning of this,
or the path which my feet tread.
And maybe with some dread,
She moves in your stead.