"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.