the world is a place of color
but do not let that color deceive you
there is no peace within this rainbow
no hope amongst the ebb & flow
there is only dance between the death that is
& the death that is to come
the constants are crumbling
glaciers melt, mountains draw down
into dust, meadows
become graveyards
even the sun is burning out
its iron heart
but there is no sorrow in this wearing away
stones that in the riverbed
are worn into smooth pebbles
do not grieve their diminishing
but cry a song beautiful
& the river that exhausts itself
like a lover into the embrace of oceans
does not cry against this loss
into the unknown depths but celebrates
the orgiastic mingling
of darkness within darkness
*
& so too my love one day
we will pass & all that will remain
of this dance of sex & intellect
will be our bones sinking
into the meadow that itself is sinking
into the dust of mountains
& the runoff of glaciers dissipated
by the self-destroying sun
copyright © Brian E. Langston
published in Attic, Volume 2 (Three Conditions Press, 2007)