The world hangs squalid on a purple cat
Spinoza’s words build but they cannot heal
Music tries to mask what silence can’t make evident
And voyages turn out to have long miles but no purpose

Stacks of cushions for vacations that never happened
Childhood blankets left to provide no warmth
Ducks in a row, hats never-worn, and a picture of a dream
Where the lotions give off and the aches begin

She of the playful laugh and impish delights
He of the secret sorrows and the mordant reflections
Find an entertwining – entertaining
Before time stretches them beyond each other’s reach