at the end of a barren concrete hall,
sitting alone, while Bon Iver’s acoustic
ticks like vibrant flecks of summer rain
splashing against the windows of a
mind that never landed the last time
she took off, “Oh God” he muses “I
shall never recover from the beauty
in this pain.” and recover he won’t.
it is a tragedy in the finest sense
when one touches through to heaven
only to be pulled back into the gray
haze of these misty flats, where she
and he carved out a life for them-
selves. the vibrancy just never blinds
the eyes, quite like the first time.
and when the moment had cleared, he could
see for miles, and miles, and miles.