punctum’s aliens – a poem

by H.B.

here’s to missing the point

and not because

it would make our story endless our story

of color and vain

of black pixel droplets flying towards

these impenetrable dark surfaces of yours, as if

they belonged to us

and not because

it is better to brush up against them

come up at or toward

a gentle something greeting what had left already, left

with a kissing regret, and not because

fear would have us

clawing at this mystery as you, as I

pull ourselves toward some even darker spaces

shrouded in

blue,

music files its missing-tune reports and yet

they will, I know, be coming like us all too soon

and not

because

we ever shared the same crime, that there was ever a time

where we shared the same crime

no time was broken

a miracle said something and left, and someone

always some one

failed toward its grasp and

not because

this fault

all other punctuations do point toward

the same one point – – missing the point

since that would make us criminals in time, it could

make us disappear into each other