and the most important thing of all, we will die.
another’s eyes’ world will open and the trees, they
shall go on exhibiting their works: syllables of
uninterpretable beauty. gently the seashores will go,
another girls supine breasts rise and fall for you
in the night light. love remains neither what we know;
nor what the magicians assert. the lucky ones
the gods need - their lips will be gilded and
in storms, they find their crumbs of calm.