Summation

I have mined
the hate
in myself.
A bright
hard jewel,
catechized
out of fire
and heat;

unlike my love
that is chalky,
grainy and soft,
the silt of rivers
washed up
and constantly
weakened by grief,

and nothing
to contradict it.
Love drips.
Hate shines.
But neither
will last
past my leaving.

What is left is time,
flexible
and unmoving,
yet wears away
all memory,
all human emotion.
What remains
is time.