He wanted to be inevitable today. No one at home. He is standing next to the afternoon. An indefinite day—a day wide open, shut closed to his efforts.
He tried reading but even the book is closed. But he is drowning in words that recall her. She has left with everything the day couldn’t open. He has arrived at a place she’ll never forget.
And he is ready at last. By himself, he is stubborn as someone who could not be deserted. War in a time of battle.
And they fought even now. He would think of things he hated about her and draw swords as sharp as her mind. They lost together.
Night is falling on him. He can feel the weight of her beauty desecrating the dark. How ominous is love when darkened by sorrow. When improper sight is held close by our wandering. For she is his sight and vision. His wants of holy desire.