"Comes a time when you no longer say: my love. For love turned out to be useless."

-Carlos Drummond de Andrade

There comes a time when you're inside out

a time when the cogs in your ribs don't turn

and your heart halts.

There comes a time when you realize

that love dies like a cliff-side plunge,

or else staggers until collapse

at the end of 26 miles or years.

Comes a time when you can't imagine

your life without strong hands on your hips,

without a constant shadow and

pillows over your ears.

Comes a time when you turn

and the space where arms used to be is

vague and cluttered with angry

things, that jar and smoke

and stab you hard.

There comes a time when you hallucinate

that the belt on the floor is a snake,

and you see only monsters where before

there were acres of flowers,

or nothing at all.

Comes a time when you fall

and you cannot see anything but death

waiting on a park bench,

crouching at the theater,

clutching a newspaper.