cast your conviction to the winds
your nightly dictations, fall
on deaf ears, framed
by downy pillows who muffle
all sound beneath their undulating subtleties,
too smooth for rough skin, clad
with age lines, glistening
like canyons newly drowned
your words carry no iteration, emptied
of form, contentless words, floating
along the current of whim toward unknowable places
nothing hinges our conversation
no worth-waiting-for-content suspected to emerge
all that's left, massive wake-that-is,
are the intimations of departure, fragmented hints
flowing onward and beyond-wards, destinations without destinies
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