Dearest one, how could I forget
how long this jaunt has lasted?

We crossed and recrossed the little
passages, shielded the small

golden flowers from the approaching
haboob. We argued with the moon

and her hundred incarnations.
No one drowned on our watch,

only stumbled from craning up
so much toward the darkness.

I think it is no weakness
to confess our love

of starry configurations,
how we plot our movements

by the shambled remnants
of their distant light.


In response to Via Negativa: Primary sources.

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