when
I
woke
I
remembered
little of you

though I plumbed the depths
of you, religiously,
if one can say that
about those milky rhythms
seen and not heard

(for who really hears a word  
in the deaf space of the night)  

we get only lilting lunar light,
sharp, crisp edges rarely appear
inside closed eyes--our pink lids mute
whatever passing parade was there
though I continue to stare

last night it was simple neon light
fading baby blue,
flickering florescent
curled like a pigs tail
wagging and wafting
in my watery waves of REM

I left you mid stream  
for the cold clang of the alarm
has no respect for a dream  
I
made my way into the day  
where my open eyes
still blinked and longed
for the lost spell
of the color of night