"The hour between night and dawn ... when most people die, sleep is deepest, nightmares are most real. It is the hour when the sleepless are haunted by their worst anguish, when ghosts and demons are most powerful. The hour of the wolf is also the hour when most babies are born"

i still dream of your eyes–
the eyes into which i never gazed
because they blinded me.
whatever flowers may be harbingers of spring
are withered in my heart. when you look at my shadow,
the beautiful woman there grows wrinkled.
the flooded landscape sweeps me away

your eyes–those oceans–
have drowned me.  when i wake up at dawn,
a bird flies from your eyes, taking in its beak
the image in my mirror
of you sleeping

my lips are your lips, the lips i cannot kiss.
the spirits you drink befuddle me;
when i sing, your voice sounds
sadder than an autumn twilight

i swallow the clouds in your mouth drifting
downward from the sky
and exhale your silence.  let my tongue speak
the words you whisper in your sleep,
the words i never hear

i am forever reaching for your hand, the hand
i fail to touch, seizing my shadow,
piercing the darkness of night.
when my hand closes into a fist, you
push me away into moonlight.
my palms stroke your bruises
in the night breeze,

causing me pain.  my fingers tremble,
breaking through your cry as your
hands reach inside my chest–
cutting short my pleading and
grasping my heart