After Years

Again we meet, without
quite knowing the words
which express, which connect
the things we might have felt
through young, shapeless shells.

we were in the lap
of something so simple,
100% together: a tingling
from the spine, a merry-go
round of whirls within a vane
of a ballerina music-box.

We broke. Toys, we tried
to fix ourselves fast. No
limbs dare touch those parts --
no one really seeks the stiff motion
of that thing, of that moment,
of that pulse.

Nor cold you shoulder/
absense of feeling. Your purse
lost in memories -- a shovel
at sea.

We lie like castles of sand:
disposable, soulless, washed by...
the salt of the roaring waves...
together in limbo
with fabulous imprints on
frail, discrete bodies.

We stare at the ceiling, blank:
we imagine, imagine nothingness.
sweet, sweet chirping of sparrows outside
through partly-lidded windows.