All the World

For…

On another Sunday,
Evening or early morning,
Risen my
Body,
Still warm and yet empty,
Still calling, calmly now,
For you,
Beaming eyes like
Thunder and a crash in the distance.
There is a color and it is Not Grey.
Do you remember the knocking?
Terror and remorse,
Then a sudden wave of
Alone;
I would rather be
Shaking knees.
Have never spoken, I
Hear you,
Rattle the windowsills and shake
Old bones in the walls,
Whispering:
“Everything is going to be alright,”
Feeding the rift with
Your time,
Black Pyramids and
Burnt Offerings,
Ocean depths to your last breath.
Now it folds,
Dusky brown with dark lines,
Imprinting images to
Dusky brown with dark lines,
Out of focus,
Small and illegible,
Too many and too few,
Syllables
Out of place.
No more taste for luck life break space,
Tear time and face last,
Inversion of the past,
No mirror,
Never clearer;

All the world for…