To Mincot
All doors were open, and we danced
in the past and future through their generous gaps.
We feasted on secrets; we drew sweetness
from the lightest of hints and each bit revealed,
sufficient to nourish us, neither surfeit nor choke.
The shadows hungered, but we played with hope
as a winged bauble to bat and toss
down the endless corridors of our loving craft.
We thrived in the stillness of suspended time,
and for our dear companions we'd the whole cast.
Now we are caught in a labyrinth of loss
where all doors lead to death.
We cannot go back or forward; we are trapped
and grope in darkness. Our hearts are starved,
riven, bereft, fearing to build
lest the passage crumble and the walls crash.
Can we learn to bide in this bleak land?
Scarcely can we stand to strain our glances
toward whence we've come. We will not dwell,
ever, in that place again.