Remnant

The words of our story, broken

are what

I remember when soft

memories move in close. 

And I feel something call

to me even now,

from the hundred so miles

wherever you are,

testifying.

Can time circle back?

Fate’s own Sins upon our heads;

Yet unseen threads cannot

be cut but tended by one

once lost like us. 

So token thoughts are kept from lighting
the darkness of other rooms. 

And for what—

Do the sciences grow

toward explaining what makes

you
inseparable from me?