It is only in memory that even the weeds render unto us vast harvests

I want the divinity of lust

I watch for the divinity of lust

THE IDEAL THAT QUIETS THE HEAT OF DEATH

Eidolon

Enantiodromia

And I am (un)done

And the circuit breaks

And I am breathless

Yet my memory fills space-time

And its outstretched quilt-work of stone

And the shadow of Sunday afternoons

 Which we spent:

Telling each other stories and drinking love

As dreams became fact

And we whispered fantasies that come not from darkness, but from the light

And now we are 

cognisant 

in the 

stillness 

and 

in the permanence of joy

Here we rest

If the definition of God is a mosaic,

A temple of colour,

Plump with the blue notes of white holes, 

And pulsars, quasars, and etchings of eternal light, 

The soliloquy of our footsteps, 

Is us lingering, daintily, 

Waiting for your approval, 

On the threshold at the end of time.