God I loved you,
like the Antarctic ice shelf crashing
into the Great South.
Just the now of it,
how that moment was
beginning and ending
with nothing either side.
The risen full moonís November eye
can witness but never understand
the seamless elapsing there.
Our breath white smoke to cold air,
we stayed beneath the blanketís glamour
where time was space and space was time.
Donít wake love and burden the poor light
that modern science breaks open to reveal
in the old adage of the heartís bemoaning,
stirring would shatter this stalled mosaic
of such an avidly desired archaeology.
Mosaic Villa Romana photo by Kentongreening - 'kiss'