Mandos

We sit in the halls of the dead, among the mourning

Among the extinguished stars blackened by intemporality

My eyes and yours, the lanterns burning

For all that we cannot say "I love you" any longer.

Not in word, and not in deed

Because the sky has not yet forgotten us.

Others wait, and so are we chaperoned

Even as we wait for the utmost river to cover our heads.

We know there is no death as this silence.

In the moment when we are dead to memory but not yet to soul

On the cusp of terra nihilo:

I will whisper in your ear—

Vos amo, my fair one

And no one will be there to marvel at what we make in the last farewell.

Stories die to reach the halls;

But how many more begin at the coda,

Be it only the blink of my eyes, or yours?