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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Statue at the Crossroads of Cloud We were frightened, two candles left standing in a southern wind, we wept with tears of resin that washed nothing clean beneath the sky, and stillness ran straight through us like water through a golden sieve, while the road dissolved under our feet like the wax of a lonely dream. You stood there humbled before a wave the moon had melted down, a wave that had forgotten its own shore, a horse without its snow, you were harsh with yourself, both the judge and the jailhouse at once, and you caved in at the foundations like an altar bitten by ivy. Yet still you kept trying to come, the way rain keeps looking for the sea, with your footsteps of gentle ash on the staircases of the dream, and I tore loose from the absurd unraveling like a bird that flies with its own wing in its mouth — I left without ever leaving. We both stayed on as a statue, two trees grown out of silence, our roots braided together beneath a bridge that never was, love unfulfilled, bread held in the hand until it turned to frost, two voiceless lovers at the crossing of an old wayside stop. That is how the tender love ended, struck by the thorn of the years, by the winds that snap the mast clean off before the storm arrives, by our staying far too long at that crossroads made of cloud, where the last definitions of love ripened into bitter fruit. What remains is glossy disillusion and long arcades of shiver, forgettings that grow over our faces like moss on a cold stone, and longing — a lantern burning in a house abandoned long ago, burning in tears and in dreams, for a guest who is never coming.
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