my love, love of all loves, is the moon
   nobody knows. I’ve found her voice
the sweetest taste. In the stolen throbbing
room, I bask in her absence.

there is not much of me like you,
  or I, and in a glassed dream you flung
aside and strode in vestal swiftness.

I can no more taste your truth.
time tells your monsoon, and underneath
the steady weather, your light hands me,
   a bell – a bell I have no use for.

Moon missing now, in the depth of sleep’s
ravenings – a revelry was it, or a passing train?
gnawing sound at the very heart of nothing,
my love, love of all loves, is the moon
nobody knows, my tenderness of silence,
  and with stars eloquently leaving signatures,
the available anguish dropping all else
   in the knifed horizon.