After

Your voice
is an image now,
stamped -
quite beguiling.

 My
                eyes burn with ideas,
 and I'm stuck
 in
                                                              time flowing so fast
                                                               it deranges.

                                                               I see what's
abandoned, what affliction is avoided,
and I'm contemplating the wisdom in matching all you're cap-
able of.  Deserting, too, the
                       the towering space where once we stayed.
                                                                    Did we leave
anything at
all
behind?  After rumors of ruins,
              and suggestions of deaths, I am fearful of venturing back...
though
the cries of passage
         echo earthward,
 treasure
                            telling, somehow.   There is
a choice in this,
but remembrance falters, and your scarcity gives you away.
Still,
I dig through, clambering up, not sure what I'll find or
                                                                        where I'll end
up.
I am
filtering through the vanished and
unreturned,
pushing
past phantoms, and I am taut of tongue close to
  the precipice
where our love
  hangs in balance.

Write at the Merge