Who leaves for where?

All places are different, all remain the same
In the mind’s heart, where travelers perform
the rites of passports, final glance
At kinsmen who tarry, like dogs & orphans,
at the entrance then hurry back to the rusty car
that laboriously starts with the metallic drone
of jet planes pulling
all empty hearts away
Toward the clouds, toward again & again,
Toward nothingness

There is only one door that closes & opens
& your coming, as though on cue, was a leaving—
soft voice eddying into a hall of mirrors
ilang-ilang, by your windowpanes,
that rots on the branch
sighs that trail like smoke into a cackle of noons
where children play Arabs & Americans
on the lawn

& I,
head propped against fractured arm,
trap [envision the flagellant’s rococo style,
imitation of Christ]
the royal hunt
your impossible face that sits invisible
from across the table, a wingspan of seas,
perfumed wind that will not stir,
as newspapers, dribbling in the air,
mark the signs of seasons:
choices/decisions, finalities/situations
that close my doors but open yours—
O Woman of Infinitude—
toward your own manner of living/dying,
toward again & again
toward nothingness
“toward nevermore”

[How many eons was it ago?]

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