reply to mr barnes, a beginning

every tear and reminiscence
a measure of the depth
of narcisism

for there is no afterlife
and no god either
except love
which can only be real

hammer to fall

it comes down at last like a storm of stones
three years' worth of tears and fears and pain
buckets-full of years
grave-day loads of bones

all is new & now, all old & then
the bed the same
but we're li'll nemo here

with my unknown past
on your tender shoulders

you make me fly
on
up
into us