Wilt. Refresh. Repeat.

In Couplets. (best viewed on desktop)

Fumée d’Amber Gris by John Singer Sargent

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Wilt. Refresh. Repeat.

Through darkling clouds, the veins of citylight
are seams of gold that split the onyx night. 
And though these earthly lights are not so old
as stars whose brilliance travels through the cold
of space as artifacts and images
of untold time, these lights below are hinges
guiding memory's door upon its arc. 
Would that it'd guide the damn thing shut. Your stark
expression hasn't changed; at least, the ghost
my mind conjures of you projects the host
of disappointments I laid at your feet
like graveside lilies. Wilt. Refresh. Repeat. 
I never mastered permanence. My friends,
like you, are far from me, and life impends
between us as the dark between the stars. 
What eye beholding you or them could parse
the signs we should have been? The zodiac
could spin eternally, but once it lacks
the taletellers who make those forms cohere,
it will be nothing but "those holes that pierce
the tapestry of night." When you and I 
both blinker out, our tales will likewise die. 

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