Where this is going,
the way things are
moving, how it's all
looking—it's like
nuclear fusion.
No, it's like some
weirdly clear confusion.
It's so faint and light,
I might
be dreaming—but so
heavy, I'm sure
I must be thinking
at something
approaching light-speed;
thinking—the ending
might make
a dazzling beginning,
thinking
this might be
one of those
live-giving suicides,
the way
two rogue particles
collide and annihilate
to illuminate a stark landscape—
the way
I do not willfully seek
but still always expect
to find you—
like silence,
like stillness,
like heat,
like home.