Home into the sun’s house

So we go on after the end
picking up the old threads
we had let down at the foot of the bed
before we fell deep into it
in movements of makeshift love
that leaves a scar dug deep into
the flesh of what feels love in me.
So we go on after the end
at either end of the road
stretching from east to west.

I’ve come so far
across the windy plains and rolling hills,
my footprints undone by the windswept sands,
and the sands and clumps of mountains
have buried the sun behind me.
I no more know where the sun sets.
I clutch at the frayed end of the thread
and yet stand on top of the mountain
where the sun rises every morning
looking to take a dive
home into whence the sun comes.


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