Why are words
Such kind reassurance
Of this twilight leap
Towards oblivion,

Where stories untold
Under street lamps
Are the far-off dreams
I can’t have?

Only poetry wakes
When it’s reeling
For reminding me still
There is wreckage

Beneath what gap
Beckons gently
By calling on names
Dearly missed –

Such beautiful ghosts
Screaming back
Still below that edge
Neatly written

After spelling again
Who is dangerous
Through their aching face
From afar,

If capturing whims
Feeling high
Though perceived but once
Every evening

Like lifetimes spent
Gazing downwards
At reflected stars
Over waves

Leaving breaking crests
Well behind
Across inlets dark
Hiding answers

Needing further jumps
Than imagined
To explain how art
Fucks us up.

Love may kill
Since remembering
Yet passion precedes
Fated endings

Finding meaning again
Slowly teetering
Knowing hope falls deep
Unexpressed.

• J. Pigno