we used to call love the unfolding tomb
begotten; not made.
the ephemeral illusion of cavalry
our total history of the dream as it turns to sand
is it that: I am You, and You are Nobody?
returning soul for the endlessness of the time-after “it”
whatever “it” is.
the place where you first descended, eons ago?
which is today, a rewind of the cinematic tape loop
conversation we were having in July and continuing in June
with new grass above our heads
and nobody to hold your hand
Because You are too far away.