Through Europe’s green remnants,
Sun-stained and imperial
The trees rise, flag banners in gray skies.
The scars of soil, and agenda
And words written-against flesh
And here in the darkness
We blur, we blend, and we mesh…


I can no longer reach out…
Without touching.
I can no longer out-reach…
Touching without.

But still the stars seem
Cruel and warm by turns
The illusion of our memory
Still writhes and burns.
(…writhes and burns…)

The echoes of time
Never close to forgiving…
The dead are never buried,
Far from the living.
(…and still we cry out…)

The ruins of things
I have never known whole,
The pits of sacrifice,
I have never seen unused…
They used to be mere image,
Phantoms unfettered by flesh.
Now as they fall-
They fall around me.
And now as they fly-
They circle inside me.
They consume me,
And I assume them…

Changing before one can cling
To a single step
In the course of consistency…
All exercises are futility
But for one…
All prayers are empty
But for one…

(The shimmering on and on of lights eternal…)

Now there is fire
and all is consumed
the sentinels
turn their faces
oscillating between
day and night…
I choose their names
Written across doorways
And Forged into keys
By our desire…
By our binding,
And the path itself disappears
Into our feet
As we become
Journey and direction
Full-filled within flesh
We are one
And the track it disappears
Beneath a Budapest train
We are one
Journey and direction
Full-filled within flesh
(we are one…)

The stars are phoenix-like
Consumed and assumed…
Lost and longing
Reunited to cease,

To assimilate
One with morning
All robed by eternity
And her purples…