At that time we drifted,
you from your line and I from mine,
still somehow tethered together on the old dock,
not yet fraying, but well on the way.
It was a second madness,
an old madness,
driven by a last stand of the cells,
a frenzied scream of triumph,
ear-piercing,
murderous.
But now the frost has started at last,
sleep comes early again,
and we have started to look at life by turning around,
noticing how long the path behind us has become,
waving the white flag now
when another round is proposed.
Odilonvert 