Forgotten Ground Regained

Countdown

Come closer, Chloe.Remind my rambling mindhow we held hope hard,its fragility in our fists,as time toddered toward us.
My balded pate is palein this muddy moonlight butyour body buoys me yet,even now, nearer end than nativity.
Lately, hope—and love—look longinglypastward, our previous pacts and passionspushing us closer than any coming could-bes.
Marriage mattered. Love lasted.Count each coming day, dear.
But, already, our bankbook is black.
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