Only one
thing is not. Oblivion.
God, who
saves the metal, saves the dross,
and arranges
in His prophetic memory
moons
that have set, moons not yet risen.
Everything
still is: the thousand reflections
between
the day’s two twilights,
your
face, lost after departing from mirrors,
and everything
that will be lost, departing.
And it's
all part of the crazed
glass of
that memory, the universe;
no end
to your arduous running,
doors
closing as you pass;
only, on
the other side of sundown,
you will see the Archetypes and Splendors.
