I lament you now,

But my lulls are still

In their infinite loops, they pool,

As eyes who’ve dried.


If I could speak to you now,

I’d be damned by the how,

Some creatures who’ve haunted me,

Are the angels to whom you’ve called.


If I could speak to you now,

If rather you did not,

I’d pray for no blaze,

As you whiten and fade.


If I could speak to you now,

I’d divorce from my heart,

How much of this earth I’ve loved.

You were grave and grounded,

Before the grave’s ground hit,

But hubris extracted, from all you precluded.


If we should speak now,

I’d ask one thing of you,

If your limbs could speak,

Let them intake me.


How some height I had sat on,

How some gentleness you had worn,

If only your soul could be kept here,

To gown, to protect me, from my eternal abode.


If I could speak to you now,

Plaid marks will mark your paths.

On Thursday nights I quarrel,

At the quondam, transcendental wraths,

He rather smirked at, and, on his behalf,

Righteously is now mapped.


Mother swells deep,

But silently she keeps,

If we could hustle, and whistle,

To the dropping coins raising men from slums onto feet,

Coins dropped by wrinkles, that seamed hands

(Hands I’d again hope to meet).


Some humble blanket,

To cover your strangest of paining.

To meet that face now,

I’d be doomed by my floods:

I’d be doomed by the façade,

The soul,

That I miss so much.