SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL ENDS

Suffer:

Like an old tired star
light has left you. And the creature
you lighted
(and who lighted
your eyes blind to the trivial things
of the world)
is now a mortal again.
Everything recovers
its density, its weight, its volume,
the poor equilibrium that sustains
your new winter. Be happy.
Your viscera now is your viscera again
and not the coarse food of worry.
You are no longer yet that drunk god and uncertain
that you turned out to be. Bite
the bone they give you,
down to its marrow,
pick up the crumbs that memory leaves behind.