The fatal blow is struck by telephone.
A low comedy of excuses
finally gives way to a hollow metal sound:
“I don’t love you anymore.”
But who is speaking?
You shared my heart, my bed, only hours ago.
The monsters who made you are hovering near;
we were introduced just the other day.
They still have you in curious thrall.
And someone has decided: Our love must die.
My world, my dream is crumbling
in this tiny room, beneath a flickering bulb.
You say you prayed for us. But your god has failed.
I am shaking.
Opened so wide, shields lowered,
with time exploding.
I am being cast to the winds,
without explanation, without apology.
Did I ever know you?
My questions will echo through the years,
down De Chirico’s empty streets.
As for you, the rest is silence.
I am swept out to sea, pulled under
by a rip tide of grief and devastation.
I tumble and gasp;
hands reach out, voices cry — all a blur.
My fate is to ride or die.
This journey can never be described.
Eons have drifted by; finally the grip relaxes and I surface.
It is night, the air is warm, stars swim above me.
I pull for shore, alone, unseen; the dome of heaven lights my way.
And now I have reached the beach.
I am no longer thinking of you.