Nosidam Elegies: The Seventh Elegy

7 

She was light: she rose
above the weight of adult conversation,
the fruits of nonsense talk
ripened nightly, the buzz of flies
humming in the backdrop of a starlit sky.
Maybe the stars themselves
whispered incoherent mumblings
to their slumbering lover, enveloped in deep sleep.

She was light: she ascended,
drifting, a petal in the wind
from who knows where
drifting, our words formed senselessly
leading us closer together to this nonsense
a sense of who you are and who I am
who we are and what you said
What I said and what we never heard.
We were grounded. Our senses betrayed us.

She was light: she flew,
streaking, the vespers of light
blinding to the eye, blinded as I was
to the convenience of holding on
to the ghosts of contrivance, thinking
that drifted together we were bound
by something more than a common vector
pointing in the same direction. That maybe
we can fly together.

Heaviness. Life, light as a feather
but here, all feathers fall down eventually.
She opposed it. Heaviness
to be bound, to be wrapped in the flesh
your own or another
to be intact, to be known
to yourself and another. To decompose
sublimate into a reality she ran from
better a ghost, than to be known.
She was light: she rose, she ascended, she flew
a shooting star, swallowed by the atmosphere
in the wretched cavalcade of fireworks she deemed prettier than loving.