ANOTHER POEM

I just finished writing this one.



My pale dream happened as an ebbed night.
I had smiles from the darkness of my body.
Then it was no more.
Yet the surface of your breathing
stirs my air.
(A misty evidence: you within.)
The horizon of your eyes
has stayed beholding me
but not as a place I might reach,
not as a hope wanting to be.
I have the stretched hue of your face
long known by my hollow path
laden with the unwanted magnitude
of overlaying disappointments:
those ghosts of you flaming everywhere.