The Lovers

Zachary Pace

Beginning again (“We’ve been here before”)—the line
that separates a secret and silence, silence and a lie—
daily advancing the line that is silence unless spoken
confessed forced into syllables, decibels, the point
(“We can’t go there anymore”) where truth is possible
yet not actual, before being—the event—manifest
by being instantaneously past (we’ve agreed to keep it
private: truth made truer via secrecy) plus memory’s
incessant reiteration, revision, reversal, current, image
capable of capturing that event—mirror or shadow—
embedded in each future second (we will never stop
desiring more) until oblivion. What now? Ending again.