glass mountains

by Bienvenido N. Santos

if time took longer than the blood rushing to my face
or the pace were gentler than the flow of everlasting
covenants I would with dedicated slowness remove my clothes
piece by piece and fold them into a corner of your life
and go back to them only after a quest of fingers and tongue
on every rumored treasure the pirates in your childhood
might have hoarded while the glass mountains close by
repeat the motions but not the fire of stone and ice

naked we are most faithful to the vows we shared
this is the closest we can come face to face with loss
reckoned in terms of what little remains after a while
a tarnished coin in your hand a wilted paper boat in mine

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