Vii Poem by Rubius Nox

Love glides the years,
Like children with paper planes.
She retains every rushed fold,
brooding asymmetries,
and lamenting a time when
The loved flew askew.
As if the blank thin,
Were already assembled-
A confirmed anachronism-
A wreckage from the abyss.

She fretted the half-pleated desires,
Which could of- were, made,
As even a thought,
Could tempt those currents,
Which casts such crafts awry.
O fragile love,
O rich tilled field,
With seeds unknown.

At each river bend,
Our free ambit erodes,
And slowly like stones,
Soon we will reach the ocean.
O delicate, sensitive, reckless-
O fragile love!

As a migration without faith,
Life’s labyrinth amplifies each mistake,
And leaves them as caricatures,
By the end.
Such starless nomads
Shroud their evident tracks,
With drifts
Of relative moments.


This day you may have emerged,
From a chrysalis dark,
And atoned those errors.
Alas love is a trinity;
Which time completes
And thus cannot forget.


Despite my angst,
I took my time with love.
She flings my paper plane,
In the quiet of night,
As it carries in silence like a coasting dove,
She shows me the wreck which could have been,
And I renew,
I took time,
My love.