Five years from my end of days and, shall there,
Does a verse go on tell me—was it beautiful
Like breaking windows, battered wind chimes?
I groaned to hear when history cried
That hum in Death, the silent ode, a sallow sound

Made, was your time, to sole destroy,
But, I promised your parade I would not shake
My fist to the sky—for somewhere, you would be.
Yes, absolving dreams—committing them to fade
But, yes, they fell like the snow: all around—

In the present, the past comes ‘round—ah!
My suffering is ever turning, the edges running raw.
But, I promised, I would forget—your only wish
Was n’er to be a memory, never to use apologies as
Laurels for my victory—I can’t be happy alone.

I wrote this for you some years before, long before
We were children, long before both we were born.
You danced like light, effervesced in contradiction
A love that was you-I and a bead restful in my hand
We suffered separation ‘till life, and bore flesh along.

Five years from my end of days, gold can’t travel
Nor chameleon, needless to say I knew this was one
Our parent from thence I came, to you, to me, i-you returns,
Last one last thing in darkness burns: I to see recurrently
I knew before we were ever born, all those years ago,

A dazzling iteration of extinct, mellifluous joy, that
Though on pyrrhic terms is all in all a mystery,
When five days pass we will be each other, I sleep up
And set my lips for nihility and awe, kissing at the azure bare
To float as a dream to your stars that constellate there.