jESSE C GAULT

STILL? STILL.

When the subway graffiti atop the ashes of
our own world becomes primitive cave art &
shelter for the next, &

         after

When the stars above are swallowed out,
When there is no surface left for light to
glisten on,

no light left at all

When we are dispersed somewhere else in
space,

alive somehow else

in another frame of time-
I'll still turn to your spacedust, nonvisible

 self, & say –

  "Damn baby,
I can't believe you're mine"

A MEMORY OF A SWEET DREAM

fading afternoon

wrapped around you

 

in the golden cardigan

you were wearing

wreathes & ringlets

of autumnal light

 

at the edges of your dark

hair curling

 

each season held

in a smile,

summer & spring

winter & fall

 

you brilliantly beam to all

 

& the sight

is enough to make all

of time stall