Under ice
Hysterics entice
All the build up to the end
Of life
Was sensual
Bustling around
And now it has gone
What's left
I was knocked down a flight
When you caught me out that night
Sat motionless in the dinghy
And unless calendars have failed us
Our sons await a century
And even symbols
And deflated temples
Rot at the surface
The upwards curve
In Mesoamerica
The tears are real
We begin the upwards curve
And I didn't know
What bishop said
It recedes and then catches
On a fragment of fate
And half a pillar of hate
Twenty-four years too late!