the great round roundness

and so it was
the flawed beauty of love . . .
a rippled mirror
and reflections scared by light . . .
the single blemish that would not reveal . . .
and you forever motioning
 “Come along . . . come along . . .”
 
before . . . 
in the perfect love that was us
i could foretell the truth of our becoming . . .
and the great round roundness . . .
Completely Round,
that was our world
and our ascension . . .
 
i now see, backward looking,
that i and you and loving trust
were meant for never
and never were
 
throughout these thoughtless years . . .
as reflections in a blemished mirror . . .
the beauty and certainty that was us 
live on as memory . . .
once perfect . . .
now scared by light
and unfulfilled