What does an eschatological music sound like?
Is it the self-same requiem sung outward?
Is it woman, man, or, simply, another?
Despite ourselves, we burn the same letter.
Despite ourselves, we walk in the same temple.
The oldest cinema, we know, omits our deaths.
And, yet, the home is adroitly described.
The articulated marriage is done.
Our enemies let us know who they are.
And all of the separated parts cohere.