Between heavy stones engraved in shadows
trapped in a past timeline, under olive
trees, and the life or scent of a single
flower reliving the good memories-or trying.

Wondering with a confused pace searching
for signs of familiarity in
the non-, ever-changing from strong malice,
natural, to conscious sympathy, un-.

Accompanied by well-fed kittens in
silence, guarding the gates unfolding to
what we say is more, ad infinitum
expansion of diversity-seemingly.

A totality of one reality
that earth is finite, and the maggots feast,
leaving nothing but sounds that fade with the
loved other, and then nothing but strangeness.

We would pass the gates, painlessly, but there
is no certainty. In peace, we say, and
rest, to extend the line of ours, and their
memories back to us. And we wait.
The only thing we can do is wait.