Passing
By
Each passing
A miracle fades
To darkness.
Our love
For the miracles,
miracles now gone,
Our bittersweet longings
Bestow upon that darkness
A tactile grandeur,
an earthly vision,
making it a place:
< virgins, harps, clouds, saints, gates >
vision, be damned!
It is,
in the end,
the darkness.
And, in the end,
the stiff slap of loss
tells us
our miracles,
our precious
living, breathing, talking
miracles,
are
gone.
etc.
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