met, my fellow
traveller, after so long
on this winding
road so far from
home. When last we
parted, we proclaimed
the sky could not
possibly grow
darker, yet here we
sit, struggling
along the same old
ruts in different
seasons, new
scourge risen to
menace our
lands. Look
to the dead
for some solace:
they & their one
long sentence, begun
at the paps
of the world &
stretching umbilically
to the final contraction.
Don't think of life
as a test, but instead
a distraction from
that final weird of
knitting beginning
to end, when death yes
will die & so will
the sky & what remains
is just a longing for
anything at all.
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