so senseless –
breathlessness and pain
mistaken
for those glimpses of light striking ground
and perfect teardrops
streaming down the icy cover of your thoughts,
imbued with wine and silence liquefied to dripping greyness
of senseless waiting
for time to end in a blank page and closing cover,
since death is not the end you’re after,
nor, in truth, is ending death your choice,
for moments pass
and so everything you ever felt as real does too
just like the step-like motion of your heartbeats
and clocks ticking too loud to hear the skips
of waiting
for certainty to beat out time
in a deafening lack of meaning
which you never sought nor fought
and of a silenced call to endure
a finitude
that played through the mourning calls to fight
one moment more
for a beginning neither sought nor lost in hope,
too real to beat the truths resurfacing
in mirrored light-spots,
of beams offered another chance to gleam back
again in nowness, to embrace the moving dawn
for those who walk the distance bravely
at the pace of setting suns and rising stars.