It seems fortuitous
that we should
be here now,
standing abreast
on the lip of this abyss.
A cold gust
jostles our garments
as we peer across,
seeking an opposing edge
that never resolves.
Our shoulders slowly
fall and rise,
realization nestling itself
inside the silence.
Hallucinations bubble
in the pitch-black crevasse,
familiar faces
merely apparitions
without mass or density,
mouthing the lyrics
to a thousand simultaneous,
long-forgotten songs.
Our eyelids clench
and they vanish,
then reemerge,
their negative images
easily seeping through.
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