Where is the journey's end? It is nowhere
we know of in cessation's residue
(event horizon persons fade into),
not in the body's absent register
(to assume a singularity there)
where an 'I' looks at the husk of a 'you';
and deep the twist of how it hollows through
that one heart yet beats hard against despair.
While looking on (we still have eyes to see)
maybe of undark we should myth no tale
(as unbecoming if we never were) -
arms raised to long-gone loves let pay the fee*
and take their leave of leave to breathe, and fail,
ceasing all season - nothing to infer.
...........................
* this line refers to the dying person raising arms, reaching out as they near death.... as my mother did, as if to someone unseen by the onlookers....
Incredibly.... as always when one suddenly realizes something a long while so implausibly left in error... all my previously titled 'Italian' sonnets have been hybrid as I used to rhyme the octad (first eight lines) abba cddc not abba abba (just two rhymes, as I feature properly here). Jaw-dropping though it is to realize a blindness, nevertheless, now I see, I do, so I have.
