are really not enough and maybe it
takes nothing but sheer darkness
to truly silhouette light
Maybe all the love in the world erases no pain
from pockets of emptiness clipped onto
laundry lines behind our houses; on your hands,
those songs, that golden fuzzy glow
Nights and days, inside and about, you and I
I remember how we ruled the world
But maybe half of you and half of me
was never really good enough by then
To defy fates, to see new roads, discard dreams,
And maybe butterflies have to die on the other side
of the pale blue dot and then the ground beneath
our feet will shake, stir and then, perhaps then;
Maybe only then we will sit down to count those photographs in our phones: museums, sarees,
coffee tumblers, ghee lamps, mothers, daughters
and two pale blue parallel lines that spelled the end.
