The amniotic ocean is a dream of perfect love

As timeless as eternity, as fitting as a glove

The star of Venus shining on the far-off frothy deep

A mystic sublimation of that primal fruiting sleep.

Of death there is no dreaming, it is there and it is not

A dreadful blank, or just a lurch of life’s relentless rot

To catch us up at last and put our bones on pale display

Like fossils of the mermaids when the oceans drain away.

Thus Eros, Thanatos; and there remains the in-between

The fear of what will come and the desire for what has been

Our words the only alchemy to make of life-in-death

Exquisite interjections, born and dead with every breath.