Theoria 12

 

Eyes: glance back, if you must,
into last summer

that bitter, twisted
ungovernable word.

But if you look behind you, around,
in that direction,

reversed,
turned to the wind,

then promise to answer this question before spring:
how many more partings

will you govern
and open

and summon
to the present

in me?
The wind will dry your eyes

and leave my hope inside you –
a warm breath of nothing.

Sing.