, ,

not a trigger for remembering
the past and the shades of swoon
that turned sidewalks into
grottoes of desire

nor a bequest for the future
to surfeit a longing that’s
been holding out its hand
to the unyielding cold

because it is neither a compromise
nor a conquest, no matter what
the mythology of antiquated
cultures told you

but a loose sheet
of familiar writing
bearing the love child of
immortality and movement
and the password that unfetters
the frigid months of waiting,
the fogging up of windows
with breaths that fall
like sentences in an hourglass,

folded in halves
with the clean slate showing
lost among the papers of living
that never quite slows down
or goes according to plan

but will materialize one
fine evening when the moon
decides to take its time

“Azure” by photographer Kerry Moore


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