now that our rainbows fit on the head of a pin
a sorrow has lodged in our moon with blue lips
desolate in the feast of stars in orbit of a broken heart
and a glass thorn.
now that our lives have oceans of boredom and loathing...
and glorious Parthenons of Unbearable Weakness.
now that we shoulder the burden of obscene freedom,
casting our nets in redacted tomes
of ancient wisdom
where we dare to live aloud
and yearn for Silence.

now that we meet ourselves, dangling from a premise
are we more likely to becalm the waters
of our separate mirrors
or stoke the flames of oblivion
with soft lips to a stone
in a cloud?