I'd forgotten why you are gone.
Now it seems so familiar...
a sounding on the starboard side.
True, you were honed. A blunt device.
A constant keepsake chance for
a battered sleight of hand.
Misplaced on the rack of bent
memory, on a planet with a
distinct lingering mass.
rests an image of notion.
A fulcrum of cheerless possibility.
A nest. A layer.
It seems anxious to tower now,
handed a depth where I drown
beneath fainter tides than these.
yet, sleeping with past mischance,
a devil waits, his stride a
lurching lesson.
