Held

To call this this a taste of World Divine
prevents it lasting past the sight of stars
except in half-translucent jagged shards
of harmony and heart and wax-tinged wine

that fade as going on means letting go
of breath to breathe another time instead
until one day the memory is dead
of what we maybe once desired so

or so it seems til interlacing fingers
speak to life a piece of this that lingers