Five long years. A static perimeter engulfed the sky And I think a sixth one could be deadly. I am comprised of worlds Yet nothing seemed so small As my own printed hand. We don't drift apart unsung, We are pushed away by something dark And we do not go gently into anything at all. Conviction in the dying power of your city. Two dim-moon eyes stay fixed On two worlds unjarred, coinciding. And all I hear is one single booming voice Declaring, "Now." Is it more than we bring to bear In these tactless benedictions? I want to know if you doubt the way I doubt. I want to know if you lie the way I lie. Coinciding.
