She cried next to the coffin
The wails splitting splinters
And unplastering walls
He was gone forever
As her thought wheel
Was pushing backwards
Down melancholy’s lane
Gazing at the embalmed flesh
The same cuts that colonized
Her outer sanctum for 30 long years
The same bones that held her petit mast
Between his indomitable pecs
And lit her risen hair
With St Elmo’s fire

And now he was lost
Between the final estuary
And the behemoth ocean
As her lover drifted
From a life line on a palm
To where there is no beginning
Or end – to a mere curving line
Bearing impermanence
In the hula hoop
Of samsara.


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