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Embraces flow down like water,
A night-light parts our shadow . . .
Not a sacrifice, not passion, not a gift –
Only the effort to stay alive.
Arched over the mortal agonies
Of strontium-plagued cities
Burns the evanescent bridge
Of our intertwined arms.
And as long as this nocturnal sun lasts,
And these brief flashes,
Love, tremble and scream
Through this final moment
On the brink!
Shattering the night mirrors
We step from the frames like portraits –
But our breath, coarse as ash,
Scatters from our lips . . .
It’s as though we were gasping
With pierced lungs,
And the imprints of bodies stiffen
In the hot, crumpled air.
Oh where has it come from, and how, and why,
This pallid light on the ceiling?
“Look, my love, what’s that outside the window?”
He looked and said, “the desert.”