there’s always a latent disintegration of everything that seems solid in the world,

there’s a hidden sickness in every core of  purpose and goodness

infecting what we know and see and believe;

the very essence of whatever dream sustains us

is gradually falling apart - imperceptible landslide until the final quickening and collapse;

out there, beyond our knowledge, someone or something weaves dark shrouds

and one day, unexpectedly, 

beauty is wrapped up in their folds like a dead child.

we need to build something massive to shelter us from ourselves

from what we know deep inside, from what we are,

from the tattered nightmares that still hang on our eyelashes 

every silent morning, every new loop of struggle and hope -

in these great walls lies our only strength and chance of survival.

what was left after our worlds collided

in the corridor between two opposing mirrors?

all the things we wanted to say to each other

like magic spells of love and new beginnings - where are they now?

the longing, the lust, the loss - do they still hover,

ghostlike, in the empty space?

i still believe it was real;

the stage we imagined, the passion we conjured,

the scenes we rehearsed over and over

in the limelight of that madness,

before the absence fell with a thud

like a heavy theatre curtain.