We are alone, one hilltop closer to the sun,
and yet perhaps one moment from eternity.
Quickly almost as in prayer our hands meet,
and yet these hands are not our hands, but
prophets join to oracle the end,
Sally, if you must believe while I am gone,
believe in rain and children.
Name this hillside tomorrow an
d meet me here in memory.
and cherish them for my return.
It is the nature of the universe.
Towers twist and fracture.
a stay of execution for the leaves
She cannot think of him as dead,
she thinks of him as summer.
dead, nor will she gather small
mementos and start labeling them him.
mourning to her, without its tired grief,
its acrid taste, and utter lack of reason.
And she has seen the sun again.
It blinds her, though she hides her eyes.
more as if her flesh were marble,
animated by a will to die.
but will have come to know death better.
Soft blow the sum mer winds, where
he won't have to fight again.
He won't have to fight again
Soft blow the summer winds where
she won't have to fight again,
5.0
