Poem: Ruins

I had never dared to conceive of you—your design was too audacious.
But when you bounded into the coffee shop alight with sacred joy
I spied the secret of your machinery, saw mind and
Body and soul work in synchronized celerity,
And I swooned to find the sum of my unconscious longing
Greet me with a suntan and a smile.

Like minuscule movements of clockwork, imperceptible,
Hope crept forth unannounced, rousing forgotten desire.
My tempestuous heart ventured to believe that
A lifetime of sorrow could be redeemed.
But you could not see the serendipity,
Could not trust that a plan was put in motion.

There is no gesture of grief adequate to the moment,
No flourish commensurate with the loss.
This is no finite defeat; no three-month dénouement.
An empire of hope collapses along
A long-beleaguered frontier.
No strength for a weary retreat; no stamina
For a western march past desolate ruins.

Tender historian, you have authored the
Story of my demise. I am a monument
to your terrible splendor.

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