Love rising like the fumes of the past
out of sewer-systems and matrimony,
out of the interwoven sunset and darkness
that comprise the great farewell
that is autumn and fall.
Love rising like a balloon
lost, smaller and smaller,
renounced into oblivion
of never-ending Skies.
Love rising like God
out of the lingering memory of your
indelible mark upon my heart,
O woman of grievances,
O human, O subject of Time,
thou art reticent and pure,
thou art devoted, thou art
shameful and raw, thou art love
lost and possessed
as a Miracle, or more.
after “Clouds Above” by Angus Stone