Love

Two thousand cigarettes.
A hundred miles
from wall to wall.
An eternity and a half of vigils
blanker than snow.

Tons of words
old as the tracks
of a platypus in the sand.

A hundred books we didn’t write
A hundred pyramids we didn’t build.

Sweepings.

Dust.

Bitter
as the beginning of the world.

Believe me when I say
it was beautiful.

Miroslav Holub (from Touchstones 5)