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Lines Converge

Lines converge.
Patterns emerge
to make one image.
A miracle
We won't collide anymore.

Today
I went to a palm reader.
She said
that you would grow old
and finally stabilize the dervish
of youthful longing.
(bring her pretty flowers, kiss her deeply)
But she didn't see me
where I used to be.

How can she be sure?
(What month is this? April)
When I looked,
the lines either plummeted
or simply vanished.

I remember the lines that compose faces
their impervious tracks
and the corners that make up dusty rooms
with photographic memory.
The sounds of planes flying too close
seared in my brain.
So loud
even under down comforters.

We thought that we would die
and desperately clutched
the bits and pieces
of life.
As if the memories would save us.
We've only lived
for so long.

We've downed the last of the Barium cocktails.
This time,
let's toast to our dead ancestors
rotting
on the beach.

Let lines converge.
(merge into me, merge into me)
I'll never be able to reach you.

Go ahead
Cross the finish line first.

One of us has to.

 

One of us will