A Bear Killed a Faun Last Week

Some time,

When the Sun comes from the South

And all your words are so many movements

To salute a reflection,

I feel a pain in my stomach, in my throat,

Knowing even my eastward gaze will meet nothing but a memory,

And far later than your flexible ceremony.

In time I'll wander cobblestones on another coast,

Wearing red shoes and a new name,

And the book in my back pocket will whisper lies

About how frequently we lay in bed together.

Some time,

When the fire across the lake draws me in

And the rainbirds chatter their anxious showers

On the earliest mornings I've ever explored,

I wonder at the ingredients of the soup yesterday

And think they must be macerating my brain,

For my body rests under a shared blanket,

Yet my mind, though fatigued, is wide, wide awake.

I make the bread, you make the bed,

And we drink our basement cider in the future setting sun,

Toast to the Oak King crowned in summer glory.

Some time,

When you've let yourself drift into apathy

And I've floated away in a zen passion play,

The music in our ears an old bell for who-knows-what,

We'll nod and ache in future days,

Wishing, wishing... for who-knows-what,

Because it is what it is and still something's off.

Another life--we call it beauty, nature, joy--

Will start among the withering roots that presently starve.

But we'll remember it was/n't wanted when nourished,

And slowly (quickly) we'll disappear, and you and I will be.