Carthage, Etc.

When I was with you at the ships of Mylae and the moon was as close as it gets to the earth, all I could do was continue to pray and try to do something of worth in your name – some victory left on a weathered old stone, some footnote to something obscure – last night I remembered the edge of a boat charging hard into purpling darkness. Tonight I’m afraid of what else I’ve saved in the clogged dish trap of my brain (which only reminds me of our time spent conspiring against the church and the state). When I was with you at the edge of a lake in Quebec, watching ice crystals fall from our breaths and the moon was as close as it will ever get in our lives and you stretched and took delicate steps but still you couldn’t reach it – I am not sure what thoughts are mine anymore.

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~ by perfectionatrix on June 24, 2013.

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