WESTERN WINDOW

I dive in blindly.

You vigil and pale off from sight.

We speak long, strangers,

through unalike, slow boats.

The night opens into depth.

I depart in secret:

you do not leave a trace on the ground.

You blaze behind the horizon

and singing awakes me, invites me.

In dream I invent a long hand

to touch you beyond sight.

And yet there, it has no power

but for the dear shine borrowed from the skies

which breathes out in acquiescent veils.

The earth is sorrowful to carry you still.

The roots are an aching pace.

You reach the West

and there is nowhere further:

a wall of fresh gleam stands ungrieved.

I lose you so quickly

from this window to the West.

The earth is an unwalked short gaze

that grabs the hearts like strangers in her palm

to drop them gently then

to roll them like dice.