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)