White Angels

There’s a place where she goes
to dream of me, I know.
How could it not be?
She remembers, just as I,
that vision – two white angels
on the clear white sand.
Two, crumbling
in the last whimpering embrace.

She feels it just as I come upon
that place that holds that power.
She must be standing in that
very place on her side of the world.
She feels the knee go down, the bite
of mesquite in her arms, the crash
of stars in her flight from the end.

She knows what I know in her place
at the end of the world.
She knows that I know that it all
ended there on the clear white sand
but it will not go away.