Consequence

The consummation of
                    sorrow & regret
of impulse & blind intent,
the attempt
            to escape
makes the mistake
of believing that things we leave behind
will somehow change
or else disappear completely
when finally we
                        return:

the
    gentle susurration
of bad-faith held
to itself & nothing else,
excuses
running too thin;

the hideous birth
                of conjoined twins,
who want only to be loved,
& are as beautiful
as they are ugly,
                            just like us.

We were in the sunlight

& then when
            I awoke
the morning light made me choke as
I remembered
how the gentle susurration blended
with the birdsong & the light
curved like the branches above us
to touch,
        briefly,
skin within which poison blends with pollen
& flowers blossom before I pluck them
to place in your hair where
they will wither & die.

The past still lingers in the present,
& refuses to leave with the grace
of living things.

This is what regret means:
never to forget someone
or something;
knowing of all the lives that could have been;

to touch,
        briefly,
your skin

for the last time.

Momento from the full moon

For A

Once
I loved someone,
in the same way,
& for the same reason
I love the moon:

you don’t need to see it every day,
to know that you’ll see it again;
you can’t always see it, but
you know it’ll always be there…

…& then
months became years & those years
became the unnoticed mouldering kiss;
a distance turning stale,
old & cold as the
empty bed.

So lonely not knowing how to explain
until too late,
& strange to find how changed
the feeling is when found again;

the pain so far away

just like the Moon.

Constant inconstancy

It isn’t the same, it
                        can never stay the same.

No grass seeds always ready to
raise their blades again, only
                        
                        change.

Slow or sudden,
willed or unbidden,
                        there is only change

& nothing else.

Habit & time,
                        being & repetition
build an image of difference
                        & permanence,

but there is only change;

the one constant
                        dressed as paradox:

there is only change,
                        change

& nothing else.

Lost Futures

For S

Today gave me a vision
of what could have been; I saw
between all the mistakes
I’ve made,
there in your home where
you & your children live:

an echo of
hauntology;
the lost future that could have been
if only

life had treated us differently,
if only

we’d received

what we really wanted.