July 17th, 2016.

What rapture, what joy.
A joy I’ll never feel again.
As joy itself throws me 
From jagged to hounds.
I watch that face as if all
Was peaceful as I slowly
Sink into the caverned 
And deep. What joy. Ah.
You look so sad to see 
The fall, though you are
The one who pushed. 
Joy, feel no sorrow, I am
Time again – and hold a
Gold heart. I feel a cold
Wind fold over me soft
And gentle, is this how
It feels to die? If so, we
Are all so wrong. Joy is
In death and life floods
The center of the earth.
Decay, merely a selfish
Exaltation. I’ll embrace
To how wonderful and
Sullen the sun feels at
The end of the day. At
The turn of the hours
When a bright and the
Lonely star rests for a
Simple second, owing
All its lifetime to other
Less wonderful walks
Of life. Sun and joy, a
Couple joined in deep
Rapture and sadness.
How ordinary they do
Long to be, as all eyes
Turn to them in each
Daylight – expecting 
A deliverance on their
Promises. But these
Two are only young
Children who break
Simple promises each
Day. Untrustworthy as
Old lovers who grow 
Tired. As children who
Always search for new
Places to run. As the
Promise of forever. 

(At the Secession Museum, 
in front of Beethoven Frieze.
Vienna, Austria.)

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