Now that the fuel has gone into the pleasures of history
We can grasp hands one last time and sing metaphor
With our backs to one another and close our eyes in the rain.
When we sing to the wind, some random notes might
Make sense as their tails knot and the dust of their trails
Share some amount of charge and wave and spin.
When will we face the greater darkness, the infinity between us
Nose to nose, and watch as the color wheels weave and warp
Around the black moons of our eyes and study
The thousand weeping memories of the dragonfly?
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