12 lines I had written, even paced,
I, confused, dismayed, on a certain night
Recover by the flicker of a candle light
And I wonder whet
Lives end, begin
In the same less, effortless moment. Within,
Unheard, something stirs, some unrepresented
Stammer of a wordless thing. In your arms you hold me
Without a word to remember
That the world, where it spins, will
Kill me to mend her. On a powder keg
At the foot of a stairway we stand,
Balancing in a kiss the notion of passion,
Powerful explosion. On a powder keg we stand
In metaphor relating to conflict which
Caused the census many lives; lives lost
Without consensus and the luck which fate deprives
The unlucky. This world is mine, say, this world is mine,
When the world collapses into me without gravity.
It is rain outside, where I write this, the window
Shows me blurring reality that blur away from sight.
Thunder claps on hills far away and a mist veils-unveils the
Lamp light from searching eyes. You’re a truth to me
Where life truth denies
I find a note book in which I have sketched a verse,
12 lines out of love at a time
Where I had not even yet begun to love you. They rhyme
Of pre-historic ripples, anxiously put to time and place.
I love you yet, anyways. In another country from this love; embrace.