Nobody knows, but
I think I do.
I think I understand
your words like crystal castles
built as you say and broken
as you don’t, eyes
crestfallen on their very tides,
gazing like the beacons of lighthouses
upon those failing shores.
I am there for you, waiting
by my fire, fading,
thawing my hands and gasping
every now and again
in the chill arctic airs of your love.
I am roaming, never more
lost than now, upon your sands,
marooned, hair coloured in and I,
held frozen in your heart, I live
in the northernmost
chamber now, and
Keep me there, skies
of a black I paint white with my eyes,
of a darkness I light up with
every bit I am with you;
each flake of leaves, shift
in tide—No matter:
lifeless trees shall bloom
gem-green beneath sapphire domes,
and the water shall always return
to sleep with the sand.