Again you all appear a tapping at door;
go cry your tears on the stars where I left you.
You cannot be alive,
yet the lock is rattling
on the box where you’re kept,
out the box where your fierce names
hound me through labyrinths
of what is called sleep.
Oh, in those early hours of white heat
and light and shapeless patterns,
I lose you again
and again
and again.
I’ve lost you so many times
we never separate.
No comments:
Post a Comment