catapulted from ephemeral dreams of beautiful places
(the hurricane has arrived with enthusiasm)
I am wide-eyed in impenetrable darkness
it is (always) such a chore to breathe
but I feel a beleaguered joy in the face of death
for he has come lithely through my window to lie in my bed
a thousand times or more
and lift me to his chest like a loveless child
murmuring eloquent comforts
tempting me with the panacea of surrender
the very idea of eternal love
vast, fragrant orchards of light that never go out
and a thousand times or more I have declined the invitation
(indebted to a handful of beautiful people)
and when the morning creeps tentatively in he is gone
retreating through the mist
taking with him the cacophony of storm
leaving me in languor
indestructible silence
to make a slow and painful rise from tangled sheets
and carry through an August day
an ethereal presence of an eternal June