conjunct

twine
as vines
around again

embracing,
stitch up
what time rends:

the space between
the flesh and bone

with whispered words
like spells intoned

their purpose
all discord to mend

with heat-loosed limbs
and melting minds
 adrift from all the ports of time

eternal instant
while we grasp

what slips away
now into past

but here and now
we are just one

without a veil 
all unison
. . .

Copyright Peter Watts 2010