We stand at the quarry's edge Trying to take photographs Just before nightfall falls. Its perimeter, overgrown, has Taken the appearance of a pyre. Our five centuries together are Nearly done, the time has come For us to smile and build our nest Of branches. Each thought now Takes its shape from the floating World and passes by as empty Colors and forms. We draw out Our illusions in henna on each Other's bodies and end our life In the fragrance--and from out Of us, something else entirely Is born to live on. When time Gives way to the gathering light, It takes its cradle, our grave, And whirls us into the center Of oblivion to be consumed by The breezes of the winter sun. Unrelenting, a snow begins.
Aaron Fagan (www. aaronfagan.com) is the author of Garage (Salt Publishing, 2007) and Echo Train (Salt Publishing, 2010).