Exogenesis Terrestrial

Without your eyes I’m lost like an Earth-bound religion.
They were eagles to fly across mountains.
Canopies for the stars.

They exalted my lungs
to wake me each day
from the dream between the dead and the living.

The Dead Land turns off the lights.
There is an echo of your name.
Then the dawn comes and shows me the blue stories of
your deeply precious brain.

I’ve worn blue for many days since your leaving.
You know, the blue like the solitude of night.
This is an honest and probably unintentional tribute,
the consequence of mourning.
Your oceanic eyes are gone – the planet’s great reference.

I assumed your neurons were the Universe.
I assumed them as infinitesimal light,
the simple place where the living and the dead don’t exist,
the Universe.
The sound of your low voice in my ears
before the sea crashes, your ancient tongue churns me into
almost everlasting sand

and I am found somehow again in this confined, terrestrial

with the things meant, unmeant and unspoken.

These simple passings of eons.


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