God knows. I want a love that is like sleep. -Why should love be like sleep? -I don’t know - so that it is like death. ~(D.H. Lawrence - Women in Love)
High sun, like lightening, licks upon the illimitable lake, Lustre like winks of shattered glass at noon; Propels gentler warmth into the swimmer’s wake And she sails in absence among the salt of loves several months overdue.
But it seems, the softness of a wave presses its face against her, As would a crying animal. Soon her wounds swoon Gulping in yielding glory the mineral blur And closing their infant mouths in cowardice as at confession.
For she has a front-row ticket to the drowning light, Watches in tepid woe the greenish circles ebb in funeral song As the horizon paints itself black in grief. It no longer charms her plight To think of the sky as sea; you told her to watch the boats where they are
In order to define the end of the earth, and now she is no longer afraid, Because she knows that you once were, and she’s on paper somewhere. And now she packs up her let down town, wishing she stayed Somewhere closer to the sea and the precipice of loving you.