For love, so little's left. Ending the void, my final bound. Fog should know better. Purse your lips and ease a whisper out Just so, to ventilate the lens. Let it swell and pulse, to bear Like roe, a hundred little spheres, Before expiring, the tension snapping off The thin, wet life from its frame, A socket suddenly skeletal.
New vessels flow, coasting On every current's whim.
The rainbows swirl, brighten, dim Then thin to deathly gray And wink good night, a silent snap. Close your eyes, still. You can almost hear chimes, Chromatic, before each bubble pops. A Good Reason for Flying West, Always The void, endless in blackness, stands. Sparse gasps of light puff and fade, puff and fade, and sometimes fall and die.