sixteen love songs and a game and a waterfall

just like that planets
and then stars somehow
as if never
and this, this
may finally
but what if not
and all of it now
in handsful of dust
y shit?

what then?
I suppose we know, but let's not
say it while the trees shake
in the slightly opaque wind that creeps
up the beck, tilting
the geraniums or Herb Robert
into angular distortions of love as we walk by
wondering as we go
is this this or that, we wonder
wondering further
well is it?

and the fennel is out and reeking
and the trains go powering by
in remembrance of a steam age
that we feel anyway

and in this moment I wish it was you
and I know that it is
and always will be

.