I want no words for feeling this way.
We'll say it's a dream. And
In this dream I'm standing on the shore in Alaska,
Tensed for effect.
Imagine spray from the ferry's churn,
Tears you need not see nor feel.
My hand aloft.
Prayer: you'll see my palm from the deck and think,
"I should have stayed,
He loved me."
Through the mist, drowned in garish glare,
Among migrane sharp wavelet sparkles,
A black flower before the faithless fire,
Your hand shadow,
Nearly consumed by the detonation that had produced,
I beat my head --
"I should have gone.
She loved me."
Millions upon millions of years of past tense.
Damned to a future that cannot last as long,
My yellow band,
Impotent against the alien invader,
Who by decision and brutal fate,
Has killed everything I loved
I had not through ignorance lost.
Make it a dream.
And in this dream I turn from the shore in Alaska.
Physics shrinks everything into relative time and space.
Love strains against the ferry's pull,
Until it breaks and reason drowns,
Leaving me to bury my heroes alone,
And witness the turbid waters extinguishing the last votive wick,
So that smothered in darkness,
I can never write another word.
Let me wake up.