"Now we will find
what the rest have left behind."
—Lil Green


There, not here, is wordless. Even whispers
don't speak; gasped or groaned sibilance, bray
of torrid airs blasting hairs that stray
from ears or climb the throbbing nape. Inverse
of explaining. There's no proximity—
just brush, advancing touch, the eager clutch
final as death, as life. We overmuch,
coupled as urgent necessity,
onrushing body and soul. Or nothing.
Absence altogether, abolished us—
no you or me alone. No torch song sings
what's done, no chansons for utter darkness,
love. Stardusts are notions moonshine brings,
lyrics ghosts at midday's long digress.