SLÁINTE from James Goertel’s bi-weekly poetry feature, Under The Same Moon, offers a toast… to the end
Squint daylight x-raying a room
darkened by decades –
Our rusted knives on a carpet
beside unwilling histories of cut ties,
the sun among them.
Slack water cleaving a rock face
in dead silence –
Our surrender the same,
murdered by numbered breaths in sleep’s
yawning, gray embrace.
Savage earth interring a house
built of bone –
Our slain and sentimental
Collective communing in one last toast
to a never-ending new moon.