I just put up a post that was entirely prose. Forgive me! That is so unlike me, and I cannot let it stand.

This happened last night:

17 October 2014

14

In the Salt Bye and Bye

Twine and untwine with your sad little fingers so thin and so worn, they’re like petals in rags
all round a Sun-halo that wanted to flower, but met with sad magic. My own smile now sags,
but something that’s trying to make me pronounce it just leans down like small flecks of spittle—or prayers.
Let me just hang low my head as we both know the reason. Those terrible long-tangled airs
were voices that met amid storm-clouds, then sang out their warnings as high, loud, and clear as need be.
We were both standing alone when they found us. How sad we felt then. How confused, yet—we’ll see
the end of this story, the long tunnel-brightening turn round the curve, then. Oh then. We’ll both die.
Twine with your own and so many sad others both fingers and stems as fresh live flowers lie
in a heap at our feet as we sing out our message: Death has come round, yet we’ve live years to call
to further our message, all dressed up in vestments that woke a brave face born impossibly small
who lived through our most ceremonial hallways, a burden that passed from tired fingers to hand.
Fingers so small. Hand held far out of balance to offer its strength, though it’s weary. The planned
spirit baptism, soul confirmation, and wedding is why we are gathered—but not here; oh—no.
Twine between fingers the endless gold rings that encircle the waters where oceans will flow;
the skies high above that are nigh but not endless; the place we will center our gaze on, next sky—
It’s flowing again, just like water, live Moonlight, and where we are now—love’s tide-plain’s bye and bye.