the sign of our impending decline
is all conjuring conjecture and magic
- tricks, you might say, an illusion

but there's nothing ephemeral here:
the mental composition of goodbyes,
congenial farewells without tears

we could sleep in separate beds
without being tied together,
bound up in proximity

the real magician's play here
is that we still pretend to worry,
weigh and measure and provoke

failing that, this house of cards
comes drifting down, soft-sweet
sad too, the sadness of warning

take caution, take care, look!
see here's a rabbit in my hat,
another 'i love you' in the dark