The Name of the Year

Surely we need our illusions—
We can keep our children safe,
Love conquers all, angels fall
Away from the light like leaves.
I dreamed that I was lost when
You were gone, and all was lost.
This isn’t poetry any more than
Photography is art, longing is
Spiritual and denial is religion.
All are true, and none is real.
Just the facts, ma’am, neither
Hot nor cold, somewhere dawn
Or dusk, the solstice of my time.
I want this moment to last but
It will have to recreate itself
Just as the green fuse reignites
Before fading to meet the dead.

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