Smoke | A Divergence | To Dispel a Myth

I will keep the rings you gave me,

All pallid crooked halos made to descend,

Rather than gold, but how I prefer them,

How against that shaded setting you,

Let those spectres breach the night,

A vision I have set in pockets deep,

Hidden, as the secrets in your card box,

And were I to enumerate, on silence,

On the meaning between motions,

I may spark a sleeping memory beside,

In this tide of space and time,

A continuum, an infinite projection,

A singularity espied I once through my glass,

A pulse that works in shadows,

Or the glimmer of a moment,

Set to fade, though everpresent,

It is the intoxicating sable, pitch,

Bedewed with stars as stitched,

In a universe expanding,

Far beyond our reach as lines progress,

And shift and answer,

Were they whispers or a howl?

Vociferous, as within a lachrymal maw,

My voice is fading, knowing,

There may be a year you won’t,

Recall my face, as the seasons,

That have passed you, burgeoning,

Burning in the Summer,

As a fire distilling Rome,

Or as Norrland veiled in Winter,

Thick with pine all bent with ice,

Though, I will not let vision slip,

I will recall your eyes, your laugh,

The meter of your speech,

Your labyrinth -- elaborate,

Chambers fair and sprawled,

That I hoped to traverse,

But lost way in the dark,

Too quiet to ask my way,

Too censored to embark there further,

Leaving riddles much unsolved,

And an heir to silent ending,

With no words suiting mending,

Just a faint and latent spark.