(no subject)
When silence falls between us,
first it is just casual.
A day or two that each one needs
to do her own stuff, be in her own world.
Then it becomes like slippery ice,
thinning by the hour;
you have to go on, step after step,
and know it will break, and you slip under,
into the dark chilling stream.
A longer silence breeds
enormous invisible insects
of suspicion
by virtue of genuine absence of light.
In the counter-current
the dreams' increasing sweetness
is beginning to stretch some chord inside
closer to what might be the breaking point.
I know the dreams are animated by love
looking to find its way around.
In the morning sky
clouds are racing against each other,
exquisite grey painted on grey.
The dreams evaporate like desert rain.
This winter is blowing itself out.