Mend

We are living incarnations of a love that preceded us.

Vibrant, with ailing petals that should fall.

A knot in the throat, a conjuring of another’s quintessence,
as music brightens the void.

As we love others perhaps we can feel the face
of eternity shining down upon us.

If we could but hold on to love,
to be mindful of its primacy,
we might never grow dim again.

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