In our dream of an unencumbered world
we lose the perfection and
what was never ours to keep.
The miles and years, pieces of purity,
when everything was summer-colored,
in the recalcitrant beauty of innocence.
The days we missed, the unopened book,
the gold dust lying in our open hands,
wishing for a static moment
to evolve out of the purple darkness
to the peach-pink of dawn,
an opus yet to be born.
We wait for our days of decision
to reverse, bringing light to our shadows
and the trembling truth behind eyes, ribs.
Neglecting out gifts and all we will never do,
we learn what not to hope for
as the urgency dies in the scarcity of time.
Life is a Judas kiss, a lamentable state,
and yet, in a sacred turning we may find
God was speaking to us all of the time.