Our Days Are Numbered

You wanted to concoct a monody
On a dead-end highway
In an impossible springtime.

Your gravity, your counter-hell
Wreaked the restless angels of your mind.
You turned back into letters

As you brought to yoke the ancient nothingness
In the wind of myth,
In a flock of time,

And your thirsty mirrors
Lynched the shadow of a bridesmaid.
I've told this to no one else,

How the traces of your blonde
Preside over a thinble full of light,
How a crack in the fetid sky veers

Into the molting radiance of a gun
Cocked toward the skin of heaven—
Knowing that in one blurred instant

Some architectural speck will fit itself
Into the puzzle of antique indescretions
Threaded through a buttonhole in your shirt.

We have reached a place where everything
Can be signed away while the hours
Sprint by on the glinting legs of cranes.

Copyright © 2005 Noelle Kocot All rights reserved
from Poem for the End of Time and Other Poems
Wave Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission