meet me at the fig tree 

where the shoulder bone meets the neck bone

in the valley only we can see

whispers dripping into your ear through the phone 

that was the age of exploration,

when no border was impassable 

finite lives felt like an infinite vacation,

devouring each other like cannibals

meet me at the fig tree, don’t say goodbye, 

where the hip bone meets the leg bone 

though the seemingly deep waters ran dry,

and nothing has grown,

because 

I miss the age of exploration,

when our border was impenetrable

our finite lives felt like an infinite vacation,

feeding one another; it was immeasurable,

that our bounty touch was nothing more 

than a flash in the pan 

leaves my chest, gaping, an empty drawer 

suffers like sisyphus to close my griefs span,

in an age of exploration,

my melancholy’s stride immeasurable

its infinite life exploring finite temptations,

self-sufficient, spring came again, despite it all.