Some endings are final; not every ending is. 

Smoke and form and perfume hook –

a collage of wished pictures:

edit our faces in;

phantom sheaves in pastel dream:

is that all it was, that perfect stream?

It does seem that only sin

would crush life beneath strictures

when we were next in the book.

–but this age is a mixture

of springtimes that can’t begin

until they break through the screams

of previous nightmares: beams

of our future have been dimmed

by carcinogen fixtures

that dislodged our fragile nook,

which might yet return.