L'aura del Campo

Bronze (Zmitri)

Bronze

The pull of two suns that burn us, the tides that part us, force us together.
Two souls as distinct as proton and electrons becoming one again.
Your copper, my tin, forging a blade of bronze that slices
skies throughout the galaxies, divides eternity into dark and light,
separates night from day... like a yolk reluctant to lose hold of its albumen.
But not gentle, never gentle.
We fry in the glare of two suns becoming one, condensed into the nothingness
of a black-hole, a pinpoint that can only explode into the joy of everything.

© Kåre Enga [27.november.2016]

80.166