A Newcomer to the Freemasonry of Melancholia

I rewind
Every breath we drank in together.
And rehearse
A mitred future
It’s all empty air,
without your terse
lacklustere reply,
I read inside every pause
Like the twist of black cat
paw prints on
Silver hoarfrost
Fragile, indelible

How I wish you
would have a
Tiny silver bell at your throat
to dissolute prey

Run (to me)
Watch out (for me)
Take heed (I wound)
Be wary (I starve)

The bell rings
Time echoed
In perfect past Only
are we,
will we
In the imperfect future.


…title from Jonathan Strange

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