She keeps a pane between our fragile frames
A moon and sun slot seperate
One casement for our wonted woe.
Behind me, the glass fogs in and out as if
By the rising and falling of the boiling tides
You breathe my absence.
I am sick from fever. I spurn my own company.
What apparitions of spirit?
What manifestations? What spectres
Of love keep your heart in my hands
And your eyes on my ghostly
I am waning already.
An old crone full of wisdom
Grey and hoary behind those droplets of ocean spray.
My misty breathe is cooling against glass.
Give me folly and a glowing expectancy to be
Inside dreaming, likewise weeping
Beneath that same foolish face of silver
Shattering shards of prudence; grasping eager.
Let me bleed and ruin, forget forethought and musing
And remember hidden gazes, thoughtless passions
Not those spells of longing bound to drown
Themselves or shrink against our endless margin of instance.
Give me timelessness. Let me stretch myself
On sheets of here and now
Created: Sep 30, 2010Document Media