Eternities

There are magic words
lines of poetry 
that write their continuations
and then we have a book
written for a single reader
which in writing re-writes writer
and in being read
re-reads reader
and a terrible confusion 
where words dropped on paper
and those gathered by gaze
collapse into maturities 
that break into stardust 
collated in hearts
where identities disappear
or merge 
and the only clarity left, love,
is love.