Six weeks:
we have exchanged
Two hundred twenty-eight e-mails,
Half a major fable,
Anguishes from two lifetimes,
The gentleness of the lost-and-found,
What remains of living;
We have published a handful
of poems,
Made a place for new universes,
Set sail to seed the stars,
At last come back to Earth
again.
And this is the day the shrouds
are wound,
Sand to sand, rust to rust;
The light is water, water
light;
They run where gravity pours
out.
There will be mercy, perhaps
peace,
Slaking of the hollow thirst
that cores
The solipsistic soul:
Time has chosen sides.