your body wouldn't stop

running riverine, attempting

to find its vanishing point.

every curve meant less,

the more it stretched into

the horizon, hugging the future;

rain fell, as if for the first time,

in an ADHD of concentrations,

showering you like a young romantic

with his mostly empty desires.

Koheleth admonishes us about

the virtues of "the moment";

how the whirlpool in our eyes are

dancefloor in the next, where

my ghosts meet yours, abrazo cerrado,

to re-interpret the danse macabre.

a love letter explains, eternity is easy;

every season, the rest of your life, the fall.