Point
In a foreign dimension
unencumbered by
a Ministry of Tourism,
Transportation or Travail,
there is a Ministry of Love
its counterpart
a Ministry of Sorrow
in this land I call home
bureaus
separated by time
whose undulations
warp and fold
marrying time to space
love is the gentle glance
that seals our fate
Counterpoint
In the beginning
your fingers barely
touched mine
as we exchanged
business cards
and repartee
I wrote you letters
You littered your conversation
with futurity
bouquets
arriving each Monday
Point
Entwining love and sorrow
weaving mystery into romance
surety into loss
remorse into compassion
discourse into silence
gleaning redemption
from end pieces
a taste is all we're given
Counterpoint
Your bid meted out in public
all in, doubling down
a gambler's calculated risk
I always liked
the thrill of the die
rolling out of your hand
your eye sweeping the board
seeing invisible moves ahead
Point
Oracles
of unknown provenance
kidnapped from Hell
perform orations of fate
Secrets within lies
within unsettled histories
foretell the collected works
cross-dimensional collaboration
of the Ministry of Abandonment
The sands have dissipated
the bolt unraveled
the loom smashed into bits
Counterpoint
At the end of the day
I hold your hand
your skin fitting loosely
like snakeskin
shed
while its owner
lies vulnerable
enduring the
passage of time
End Point
All nights are difficult
all days hard
Missing you
before you've left
leaves me bereft
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