[…]

The gods have spoken.

The gods said nothing.

All our clamour

sounded the same.

Your window is closing,

they said, they didn’t say

on what. I am not a window,

I said, I am the view.

The window was on the ground floor.

The ground was grass.

The room had a working door.

The building was on fire.

The building was on ice.

The ground was glass.

The gods have spoken.

The gods said nothing.

The window was playing

peekaboo with the view.

I was plotting my leap.

You were plotting our stay.

I lost my elevation chart.

You lost our blueprint.

I was uncouth. You to the hilt.

I kissed your cave on the mouth:

it wasn’t goodbye, wasn’t hello.

We were naked, in disguise.

Planning one sound for history,

another for otherwise.