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.