You’ve gone
Past my dream bed
And I lay
Like a longing spirit,
A hungry spectre,
A hallow shadow upon these thin sheets,
Upon these pinned sheafs
Of my eternal nights.
When a pale phantom,
Leaning at my table,
Staggering,
Placing its palms
On this blankness of my page,
Spits its last words on my face;
When leaves have fallen again
Before a storm dies along the road;
When legs have thundered out
Through my garden passage
Like frightened flocks
Some drunken shepherd
Have driven off the folds;
When lines,
Read over a thousand and one time,
Are torn and burned;
When I mix
Ashes of our yesterdays and drink;
When a snail sucks itself in;
When a shell is smashed
On the stepping stone,
Broken and bleeding
I’m left to linger
Over my midnight cup
Like a forbidden thought
That rose but drops once more.