Faithfully, The impression of your hand in mine Lingers in a pool of usurped moments As I cast my shadow down the hill Where I coveted your face With searching lips For the first and last time. The centuries will hear my beseech And expand as tunnels inundated with the Dust of the beloved and the fallen. The ferns will outgrow their bodies And begin to sashay nimbly above the Moon-glazed swards that birthed them.
Gratuitously, The tortoise will remember to smile again, And his legs will gain strength As his journey decompresses And his resting place arises in a gale of Furious, breathy arias Abiding their impending freedom. Should the seas open up for your arrival And your star begins to weep, Do not wait for me, For timeless I have become. We have loved as the tiller’s dream Loved the hillside, As the edifice now loves its song.
Uncharacteristically, You might find me buried deep in the trough With mirrors on all sides. Do not seek my likeness, For I am all of them And probably none of them. Fear nothing as you close your eyes And slowly restrain your breath. Do not awaken until infinity has Called you to behold two smiling trees in the fore. Open your eyes, Go lie among them, Eyes facing the sea, And breathe again, Just a little at a time.
Art: “The Church at Varengeville, against the Sunset” Claude Monet