metonymy4u

on the strength of the absurd

on the mountains of tomorrow i count only dark
curls of your hair that were in my face but
yesterday, and thereby know that faith
preserves what always was within its proper
provenance. i hear

that well along
our sacrificial path we eventually
encounter
the difficult part of practice.

now they are no more
the owners

of individual life-streams;
each flows its own way

well loosed, into memory cells
contained

within a softened heart.