flat.fish.flesh

Each coming death contains
a crystal of your own,
first loss among my crowd.

The next one and again
will ring the self same tones
and sound them each out loud.

These dreams we share, so fond,
with you revived once more,
are told to me again

to wrench apart the bond,
remind me of before,
of crystal they contain.

Unfettered so unmeasured joy
is by its nature innocent
and ever young, just like the boy.
A mystery prize, though ready spent.

Can daily grief articulate
the count of love so ready meant,
then add the lines and calculate
the final sum of that which went?

As since there be no written mark
with which to gauge his handsome height,
the eye of love need not be clerk
to weigh what’s clearly in its sight.

And in this finite field of ours
there sure resides unbounded space,
the silent smile that age devours,
not hemmed by either hour or place.