most of all
in the darkness is
a surrogate—
a twin
who'll suck the poison
from our ache
with a kiss.
But perhaps there is a reason
our unease cannot be claimed:
anxiety can never be
extinguished—
just remade;
languor and fatigue,
once overhauled,
are reinstated.
One can't just "go around"
the abysses
of experience—
each chasm
must first be forded,
then surveyed—
and finally
named.
