Day 17
Moon dust recalls a lost night’s shade,
aimless wanders in moods of endless dark.
Motion turning. How it always turns.
the only one, and we can never be forever,
this trip back, this screwing with a reality done.
I am me, and you are you. We can never meld.
bubbles cross a distant spray. Soft surf lifts so
this shine will never ebb. The echo of a return.
We are one, but never were one. We are two.
rhythm sweet, the way it moves, its breeze,
as though we sail on a never-shrinking sea,
live inside colour chords, the curve of the true.
smooth arch of the blessed, we listen in,
content as if this wide world moves in tune,
only for our audience, only for us. Just we.
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