the day races to extinction
and as the shadows dominate
the last few warm rays
become lambent on the abnormal insight
that has grown within me as
the day has grown long
she had no face
she had no presence in the air
no name or written word to leave behind
yet here she is
a mere ghost  image between the dark sheets
of the rainstorm
as she has for may years
just watching silently

the  scratching noises of the pen in my hand
replaces the wind-song of summer day with harsh tones
yet it brings my thoughts to distant woodland lake
that was my escape from the years that i spent in the
company of the lesser misbegotten

that lake and the my time there
was unchanged and seems remote in my vision
from the turmoil of my winterbound soul

plundering my forward motion for the energy to cope
with the passing thoughts like carnivals of flesh
obscene visions of naked truth
unrestrained by years of devoted hiding
i am unable to grasp any other path
than to become like her
a shadow obscured in the
in the rainstorm
a fleeting vision
in the passing hours