Epithalamium

1 Minute Read Time

Photo by Julia Zyablova on Unsplash
Red knot, some mercury, some wax— 
detritus of one love or another. To fix

the darkness that comes not from nothing,
from the swell of wings over light;

full in flight the snow drifts, the flick
of aperture trying for a photograph

of ambition—that drive we had to loop
it all in: charcoal and vodka and dust.

Is it ever a single moment? Is it ever
a revolutionary action? I asked

for a single life—too big a glut, a feast
of fortune. I built another face for you

and buried it. Those amulets to sail us
into another life. Red knot, real knot—

hitch me, done and undone.

Read more from Issue 16.1.

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