Gnosis

Final Draft on 8/3/2018

“What,” she said, examining her hands,
”Remains to us but love?
When I was young, the feelings… they were first:
The syntax and analysis and words—
They scintillated only when applied
To what already moved me.”

She extracts the tarnished silver case
(Cards, ID, and cash on one side;
Cigarettes and matches on the other),
Strikes a flame, drags deep, and french-inhales.
Just like she always does.

“I thought that force, that feeling would be there
Forever. It the water, I the swimming fish.
And by the time I noticed that my heart
Had grown so dull and dry it was too late
To treasure what I always had assumed
Was who and what I was and would remain.”

She still won’t look at me:
Just stares intently at the creeping ash
Then taps the filter sharply with her thumb
And watches its descent.
It shatters silent when it hits the ground
And something in my heart writhes like a worm:
I know that love and lonesomeness are one,
In this life, love must cry out ‘Eloi!’
But knowing and confronting are two things—
Distinct as shore and sea—and I’m a coward.