Fires on a ragged shoreline

you and me in rain's creation

down to the very last vessels of our souls

slabs and cells of fallen light

catching oilbrush diamonds

fruits of death's ecstasy

shuddering the ponds misplaced

by the fisher crane's error,

bodies of water floating

exposed away from land

broadcasting webs of scum

fried monkeybars made

from cylindrical screens

bones weaned away from the night

where the groans grow

bright in yearning

and the churning cores

of eaten planets

cast vines through

an abstracted door.

We talked about kingdoms gone

to riot and blown

we talked about the beauty

of departed women

talked at the back bench

of an unplayed game

having given our all

to a satanic void

having given all our summers

to an unseen winter

Lord, have mercy on

the sick we have lost so many

but the blade prays too

and reflects the light

of the creator like

a can of raid.