You number the stars, find secrets in science
and silence.
You turned and climbed,
whispered foreign phrases.
"I outran grief;
I graphed here, the points of loss.
Do you see, now,
how I could not fail?"
You kneel to the ground,
laughing, wanting,
reciting the names of the gods,
translating the geometry of want
and the physics of loss.
Did I wait too late,
your gently burning heart
skipping like a turning record?
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