Outlaws

Palinode at the Wa-Sun

We will die. We will die!
It has occurred to me again that, you and I,
we will die.
What a thought to have.
We are racing toward the ridge, holding hands.
We are outlaws outrunning the law:
you and me and everyone else.
We're all outlaws.
We'll die.
I breathe and breathe and breathe,
and, yet, we'll die,
undeniably and impossibly.

That you would ever be gone from me must only be an idea.
There is just no possibility in it.
My heart aches roundly and full
with the pain that you will leave me,
and I will move on without you for a time.
There will be a place you once were
and are no more.
And then there will be a place I once was
and am no more.

It is a cruelty we bear again and again,
and I think it is only this hand in this hand,
your hand in my hand,
racing toward that ridge still in the distance,
that keeps me coming back, waking up, pacing the distance,
day after day after day after day after day.

Death breaks my heart hour after hour after hour, and you mend it.

Death breaks my heart hour after hour after hour, and you mend it.

Death breaks my heart hour after hour after hour, and you mend it.
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