For Gloria

Make this pilgrimage with me one more time,
gnarled feet and transient hearts
treading towards that final, ineffable
expanse of sacred, a solitary temple
unfurling across impossible lengths,
aquamarine reliquary of nameless bones
and corroded vessels. We will go,
like so many other foreign homes
with oars and rope in hand,
the litany of names glittering on our lips
and an X
marking the zenith
of our surest, remembered hope.

I can already see us there ma belle,
the swell of water up to our waists
a hint of wisteria curling over the waves,
running our hands over their faces
and calling tenderly their names
with every crash and cry that wrecks
the thallassic landscape, anchored
in the shallow end of the deepest chasm
that we conquered, once,
before we had the world to lose-


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