Resting in Remembrance

“something evermore about to be” ~ William Wordsworth, Book. VI, l. 603 – The Prelude

Infinity lacks meaning till the times

Of moment shine in darkness here and there

Or maybe also in the darkest crimes,

Black Holes defining it.  The blackest hair

On one you loved as if forever, dead

Now in the blankness of eternity,

Still swirls, the last sweep of that curly head,

Perfection far above supernity

Of glorious gods who never lived except

In immortality of fakeness.  Days

And nights without the lover must accept

That they hold less than interstellar haze.

  A “something evermore” spread out for you

    Is nothing now, dead utterness askew.

~ Phillip Whidden