For Naught A Winter Sun

Oh, to be able to see you again in flesh
in the perfect whiteness of your face and curves

to bend the day
and tell the sun the parable of forgotten ellipses

to see the person who is both
the most real and most unbelievable to me

I have been the most real for you too
but you are scared of that now

scared of my dark eyes that always
received the blue of yours

like space receives the fire of stars

in this fear the sun’s journey has not returned
the winter of my heart

. . . in your vanished wake

So I sit in a hermitage on Earth

or it could be any lone planet in the cosmos

with a fire of low embers burning

my cold frozen toes
and a cough that reveals the taste of metallic

This is the land of my home

you are not at the ancient hearth

The embers burn, slowly, slowly away

and soon will go the existence of all the Universe
that follows in the death of the sun


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