“unfinished business”
the last villanelle,
by dustin carlino.

Separating these words from my lips might mean I could die.
Yet unfinished business leads me here, in ultimatum contained.
I have trained for cliff-hanging all these years, so why would I fly?

It’s like the wisdom teeth pulled by the silent surgeon shy.
The cavities evident of something missed rather than remained.
Separating these words from my lips means I should die.

It is a lucid fourth to a wicked third, long past by,
written only with pieces of an old love, since words I have abstained.
I have trained for cliff-hanging all these years, so how could I fly?

It is accepting that this history’s ink will never be dry,
that deferring breaths for sighs is nothing lost nor gained.
Separating these words from my lips means I would die.

It is removing altars that suggested the next sequel would let me lie
near you, and believing instead in my own errors and affections feigned.
I have trained for cliff-hanging all these years, so when might I fly?

It is glancing upwards before God’s next sign is firm in the sky.
It is over; your heart’s proprietary design has been explained.
Separating these words from my lips means I will die.
For I have trained in cliff-hanging for years, and now I fly.

8/28/2008 - 4/18/2010