The twigs remind me
of ancient a memory,
muted by time
and our efforts to forget.
You remember how
You’d snap a twig into two,
then we’d sword them off,
like two chivalrous knights,
queer knights that feared
a shared sunset together more than
Battle.
What happened next?
the next memory seems to
slip away from me too,
imitating you.

Upon the stage of unsung heroes,
Stands the pale and hollow of stars,
she foretells of Men and their woes,
“The world’s end is near, and the near
Will come, be it now or tomorrow.”
The sun, old and withering
Soared its dying lights in the sky,
We thought the night has come,
And the day might soon follow,
Yet the moon, crippled by the sight,
Cracked and died, its crystals fade.
If ever be hope of life in the dark,
Let the beasts swamp the shades.
And if planets roamed far into
The abyss, in search of shelter,
That pale star, lonely and new
Would spread its arms, “come
To my reach, giants of air and
Beautiful intricate rocks, soak
Not all of my powers, watch me
Gain my strength with time,
And dance around me as I
grow mute to all neighboring
hot, lively and cunning stars.

We are but a string of hopeless strangers,
Trapped in spaces,
Trying to be happy.