[23 October 2019]
Perhaps I will find it there, at the borders,
At the crossing, at the place where we give up
And give back? Here is where the rivers split,
And here is where they meet. We freeze.
We melt. We fill up and pour out.
Now is the age of time’s ark –
A covenant of memories sealed shut by
Red gates and white paper, locked away
Past all point of recollection.
If you came this way, coming the way you come,
Would I find you? Would I know to look for you?
Would I follow you, or would I be consigned
(Or consign myself) to states of sempiternal transience
Cast on the altar of desire in the name of piety?
Neither is imaginable, but neither is unimaginable;
Neither is a desirable state.
The rivers are parched.
The roots dig down deep.
Somewhere in the springtime, I heard you call my name.