Untitled

May 21, 2003

The sun slides down the road one more time,
down the back of the world and on to other places.
The golden light fades out from the real place
and leads me into a palace of dreams
at the edge of my very mind.
I am still falling into madness.
I'm still getting stuck in the focus
of all my attention to this one set of eyes.
And it is in the darkness still I see
the first person to ever come to me.
I find your eyes open in the dark
ever once more as ever before.
To feel so much of this return
now seems to signal the things
of memory that once I tried to hide.
Can any of my words now matter to you?
Or have you now gone on and left this
when I have not?
Have you truly beaten me to the
very last day of an aching need
to stop coming back here?
A world is here still that I created
with whispered thoughts in the dark.
A trace of the self that created it
lingers there nervously for three days.
But do I reach out to dreams now,
only when it is a bit too late?
I can see the hair and the eyes,
I can see the face and the body
but I can't seem to make it see me.
I see the hollow of the house
and I hear the echo of my own words.
I know you hear me, then, and I
see that the eyes still watch.
Words are still not easy.
The connection is frazzled and we
are left sore and dissatisfied.
Ever and always I will go back.
I never meant to end it, but it ends.
Just like it will always come to me
in moments like these, to go back.
I sing someone else's song,
then turn and correct the words
in my own language of loss.
Nothing helps take it away.
No one comes to cleanse me
of the need in these moments.
My own life is recklessly opening.
My words near an opening.
With one last kiss in the air,
I pull away, but never for long.
I am fully open and will never close.