You, my creation, my art,
you every throb
of my hopelessly broken heart,
how did I discern immortal you,
your unlimited soul,
from all these demarcated charts?
The certitude of your curving lines
from all these uncertain dots
indecisive if they belong to the aisle of any
shopping cart.
All
these perennial forms
from impermanent imitations,
from corroding matters,
the decaying world
bursting apart?
How could I ever braid immortality
from the wraps of falling to end
and the woofs of rising
to start?
How can I still live you,
now
when so deep in our togetherness
we are this much
distanced
in our hearts?
**
I used the word "Uncorroding" in order to Conway an (imaginary) force that reverses the process of corroding in the mirror.
