poetry provides the diagnosis :
love is longer than life. half the time

we are doused in sleep with hair
like a bird's shadow

descending a gnarled spine

where pockets of
marbles, faded photographs, broken keyboards,
the sound of a cello,
and the unread letters of a decade
swim through uncharted waters

packing heat.

crows land like creosote
from a burning chimney
on a rush of rocks

the white horse of dreams plows a disaster

but it is the Magnetic Resonance
that reads the words of a poet's delirium
capturing sun and moon and mist
recording a love letter gone askew,

words like seagulls tumbling from cracks
in the clouds
with nothing less than the world
at stake