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Gone the Next
            ~~ for Terrance Hayes

The conversation is not open
and who says it should be –
on this day, a summer’s day,
I left the book open on a low yellow field,
I walked away from that blur
of ink, crack down the spine
folded to the earth
as if waiting to be buried.

There is a story in my life.
It swallows the whole of my heart,
and now is lost for the telling.
I used to love the repeat of it,
the words swinging me back
to Paris with no passport
and those long hungry hikes,
Kendrick making me high
and so fucking happy,
hearing the poet, his loss
was my loss and the unity
left time behind, didn’t it?

A school girl knows there is no love
without the taking of it, the esssence itself
containing its own destruction. For the blessed
a skeleton remains.
And what is a skeleton
but a scaffold of yesterday’s form
waiting for gentle hands
to shape what will come.