“We have too much to gain from the gods, and this is why they fail to love us…” – John Burnside

We once found a word we've now forgotten,
explaining a concept that drifted away
        like vapour
            & left us,
in the same way
that everything
        eventually must
            We were dreaming
about perfect expressions of language,
about harmony between anguish
        & affirmation;
for what can never be achieved:
a gift from the gods that may or may not
a gift
of significance & meaning.

A meaning made
like a statue of clay
we leave out in the rain:
a gesture of defiance
we know in advance
        will not last,
            & yet
                doing it anyway.

Whether any god exists is
            don't listen,
because they can't:

perfect language does not exist.


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