Through the glare of the ghouls and goblins circling the fireplace,
You see where all battles hedge their way into
That cascading finale in a Helms Deep-type situation
And the two of you are dancing amidst the armies of time,
Harnessing the promises of Summer into the reality of the transition
Reminding each other of these seasonless days,
The days you’d both yearned for.
And you’re recycling phrases like “Worth It” for something more sustainable.
You return to the stigmata of doubt looming over this incredible moment.
The one that has at long last cast you as Rocky and her as Adrian.
And this is the night before the big fight.
You alone in the ring.
Eyes tethered to a postmodern Apollo that your destined to lose to.
In the empty Philadelphia arena, wreckage from a lost flight begins to accumulate.
Suitcases, engines, wing scraps, passenger seats…
Sand swarms under the ropes up until your knees
In the Jungle of the crowd a black fog howls
The transmission of the bonfires carry dead ended air
And as a result, gratitude in defeat will be ascribed.
You don’t need to be a pilot to soar