Islands

Slug in the keyhole
She poked it with her hairpin
But it was dead

* * *

After all we are islands sliding on a lake of ice
And the horizon is only an illusion
A razorblade of light
That promises countless universes
But dies with every moment of living

My loving moves along that straight line
Stretching across infinites
Only to find the eternal circle
And the persistence of time

A drop of water
Torn away from the roaring river
Rests on cold stone
Dying in the sun

(After all we are islands sliding on a lake of ice
And the horizon is only an illusion
A razorblade of light
That promises countless universes
But dies with every moment of living)