To the Young in Black

There is in me the blood and the meat;
this skintight force of breath and light
that in breathing, breathes, in breathing, beats,
the perpetual machine unwinding tight.
Born on rewind we spool apart
our entangled ribbons of hearts and hands,
playing the play and repeating the start,
each dawn is secondhand.
Until death - we uncouple,
before the last uncoupling,
wherein the heat of meat turns cool,
with breath unwound departing.