Sibylline Notes
In every rejection, one finds
a recognition. You, are here.
Remembering is sand
that settles lightly, so you
choose to go to ground.
(Five minutes flickeredon
and off.) I knew them well.
But soon forgot, mere shadows
inexperienced in love where
moonlight roared and spat
a minotaur. One spoke,
comparing longing to a phobia
of butterflies with abject ease.
Three years are all it takes
to build an ancient world.
Such facts my brain still
teaches me, no constancy
of time or place. Just the
thought of a table and chair
measures death.
Equidistant.
You are here. You are here.
You are here.
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