Do We Part

When, like a smooth and wintry bone,

Autumn slips into its snare,

Leaks it's catheter onto lost graves,

Where you and I split moss and hair,

They will spell runes,

Like spider’s eggs, bursting on stone,

That mark the birth of our next round,

For days unbound from silky ties,

Before we chewed to bitter grounds,

The nitric pools of unborn daisies,

Blotting through the silt and loam,

Above the yellow tangles and sinews

Where pale-faced worms ring our eyes,

Our fevered earthen orb renews

Its downy pall of snow.

Deliver us from Sunday’s breast,

Primeval slime-worms that we are,

Till the cords of currents spark,

Between our palms up to dead stars,

From patient resurrection.

All, left scrambling in Helios’ wake,

Will know the space between your teeth,

Where tongues tied knots of simple grace,

And it will read upon the wreath,

That you and I, warm at our best,

Did what we could to save the rest.