once

THERE IS NO WAY of knowing if the cat is alive or dead because of one simple fact: we did not open the box. There is no such box now, or a cat, or any metaphor that could stand for whatever this is that we have. The comet has already streaked past us, closing out all posibilities, permanently, leaving nothing in its wake but us looking at the night sky, under a different set of stars, thoughts to the same sad epilogue: You and I collided, once. Our paths crossed, but never joined.

poetry

And poetry will be our language,
     Shelter ourselves with it,
     Like thick blankets at winter's peak;
     Kisses indelible on our skin.
     We will talk, live, love down to the last word
     Until there is only silence,
     Where words become infinite.