Monday, January 10, 2005

The blue white light of nightlight dreams
in which a whispered wish becomes
and you, ephemeral, are pinned down
with a word that doesn't
mean what it used to,
if it ever did,
and what we are is nothing
next to what we are become.

That word, which could have come between us
is nothing, just another word
given in a glance or shouted
on the street or
whispered in a squeeze
of fingers when the theater
lights go out or spoken,
matter of factly,
in the sleepy still moment before dreams.

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