A half-life passes, others come and go,
But no clairvoyant eyes can find the day
When what we’ve shared will finally ebb away.
Our palette lacks the muted indigo,
A shade to quench the incandescent glow—
Our cataclysm’s radiant decay—
And time provides no twilight to allay
The swelter as the burnished memories flow.
Our sin was unoriginal, and yet
There was a bonding no one could explain,
A synthesis of sorrow and a sweet
Combustion only passion could beget,
And if I could embrace it once again
I’d stop my clocks and call the world complete.
Daniel Platt is a translator, poet and musician who resides in Los Angeles. More of his translations and original poems can be found here.