Meeting Halfway

I'm the interminable fields you can't see -- Franz Wright

we meet on the last day wrapped
in irony and blankness,

my promises coming into your ears
like an empty wind,

entering a shattered drum,
there will be rejection

and whatever ways we elicit us
will render versions

but we will be the fields of bipolar ends

where I will watch from a street
corner called 'magic'

stalking our abilities to connect
from cosmoses apart

and there will be mock guffaws
at the way we exist

but we can be the fields of inventions --

we can be the insignificant
things of banished acceptability --