"where night is...the integrity
of the voyaging star..."


will flowers blossom soon in this
nearby petal-edged spring? the day

is full of buds, the night carries its ghosts,
the night-lily singing of magnolia and cloud.


in the sweet-breathed sky
the silver stars are like tiny pins,

my love is carved in their reflections,
i see his face in their waters,


our love still lasts, scented like the spring,
promising each other the ghosts of forever,

i could never let him go and now he says
he wants to die by the sea, in my arms,


and we create a new dream, out of night's
shadows, a new beginning before the new end

for all our love and all our hate.
i lie numbed or over-joyed seeking


his tenderness in every crevis waiting
for the kind word, the gentle kiss.

sometimes he gives me love, sometimes his hate -
how tired the world, its hidden ghosts


soaking in the rain, the clouds subdued,
the poem built of the night's sweet edge

enamel-glazed, hypnotic like the stars.
how tired the world- how empty-


and how the poetry spins like a top, full
of the dark sky, the sad farewell,

the pretty ghost.