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  • Writer's pictureErrol Rubenstein


The sun set long ago: light is gone now

from the window at the back of the house.

The moon shines down upon the spaces

where light has gone out.

Today I missed no one.

Tomorrow I may mourn.

Your love, for the moment, is all I need.

Let’s make a hole in the sky and disappear.

Behold the star. Behold the moon. A door is open.

A light is shining through it.

I am tired enough for anything.

There is stasis.

I can only see to the horizon, and not

beyond it. And yet, I am the horizon itself. I am that line

one cannot see beyond.

And I often feel that I am nothing

at all. And you are nothing at all. But I am

what you have given me: the blooming, the being, the becoming.

We are no longer empty.

Now I have found you, words are

feathers on the wing, salt in the mine, water in the glass.

Between the coming and the going is the infinity of sky.

What have we become?

We are shadows of water.

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