Twilit, Oh

by Annar Veröld​-Miranda

for Joe W. Bratcher III 

What of your ship     the folk tapestry

its sails the eidophone 

of your laughter     the echo of opera 

washing over the wallless space

the hunger & the palate   miracle

of Scriabin     your cloak, your cap

the grief -gutted     

the aching we        are open-armed

dreaming of embrace    non omnis moriar   

at your gravestone harvested wild-

flowers surrender their shape     & the atoms    

of ourselves grow bluer     twilit, oh but

You & I are limestone

the hollow of the nautilus—a matrix

returning to the sea     but dream

but memory      always the gild of crown

or nacre of the oyster shell      the first 

or final tear       twin flame eternal

in a café splitting & splitting 

an éclair.