The Last Time We Spoke

The last time we spoke,
I had in mind a vision

of Pound’s Metro.
You said it was

a metaphor for death,
whereas I could not,

could never see it,
as anything other than

the bittersweet beauty
of life. Flashes of moments,

all too brief,
that woke in me the desire

to see the shadow
that defines the light,

and the silver
inside the rain.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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