A poem about transforming duality for beauty and growth — Are goodbyes embedded
in first meetings, like
heartbreak snuggled
in new-moon kisses?
Does the grave contain the rose
the empty hollow knock
of trembling bone
knuckles on a door?
Does the hope,
also, imbue the suffrage of all?
Do these words imply
the ending is nigh
below the page
or perhaps in verse or two
of obsessive days,
where I bestow the echoes…
