What’s your vision? What’s your plan? Your eyes seem
to know the plot yet you’re mute as midnight.
You want to direct, but only watch, scheme
with motions known only to you. “Moonlight
Sonata” plays in my room. Do you hear?
Do you care if that’s the soundtrack? The bed
lies empty, covers unturned. Will ever
passion return? Will our spirits be bled
of their essence? How do we know what we’ve
learned? Where to go from here? Is memory
the last of it? Images? How we weaved
around each other like ancient vines. We
gripped sore arms and ripped out hearts.
Have we reached The End or is this the start?
Roger Armbrust
March 22, 2020
