Something close to life’s desserts
contains a draught of loss in all that glory;
after longing, we reign for precious seconds
before the here evaporates like chocolate mousse,
delightful, possibly salacious, addictive, yes! but gone
Nonetheless. Perhaps it’s age that solidifies liquidities in this;
perhaps coagulation with having endured just so much conjugation, so many
strident verbs seduced from the indicative to the vagaries of subjunctive
certain obscurity. Still certitude persists and grows with time.
The only antidote to the common predicate is to lose the subject
and assume it’s there just as surely as for every never
sits an always, with its sibling ever within the text.
From such certain premises we draw necessity, the sign
of righteous passage escorting this world faithfully to the Next.