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Beyond Elsewhere
221
The pact with the heavens is broken.
Paradise escapes beneath our feet: a cursed
wind insists on making us fall from above
ourselves, with implacable patience. Month
after month, every stone of our imaginary
temple collapses in a slow attack on reality.
With the last breath of passion, all that
remains of our faces are fallen icons: two
angelic visages torn by the blade of a love
profaned to vestiges. Only our soulless
faces and eyes remain, unable to withstand
the vision of the fall. Only she and I remain:
nothing. Nothing but the nausea whose
sensation precedes the proclamation: the
disenchantment.