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R u m m y   P a r k

b y   R e b e c c a   L u   K i e r n a n

28.  The Fate of the Sun

Rain scented candles
On the sea shell patterned floor,
Bathroom curtains lifting
In the muscular august wind,
You wash my back in the claw footed tub,
Flesh opaqued by periwinkle sea salts.
Nightfall curls in lilac pastels and pink streaks.
The lunar searchlight shifts trajectory
Between bent grey willows.
We do not discuss the trivialities of the day,
Just the sun exploding in a thousand years or more,
The end of life on this world,
And worse, the end of poetry.
When my words are extinguished
And there is no one to know
About your head against my shoulder,
Your warm vowels tickling my pulsing jugular,
What will this love matter?
Today we watched the sunset
From the bell tower
After James Blunt sang
So fragile and tragic
On the courtyard lawn
In custom Armani.
What will our love matter
Even to angels?
When the sun is gone
And we're in the bathtub
With Jesus and Rumi
And the dinosaurs are running amuck
And John Lennon climbs in, drunk,
Glasses askew and sighs,
"Every dog has its day."  

poetry & photos © 2006 Rebecca Lu Kiernan

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