Les astres sont plus purs

that my nights are filled with thee
the darkness holds no fears for me
for I can dream of two bright stars
set together in infinity.

Shadows

her springtime shadows
catch the sun
are not to me
as darkness run
instead as borders
to the light
and in her form
my eyes delight

Schattenwelt

now that the sun’s discarded
all hopes of its light finery
the shadows it imparted
are but the past’s dark memory
cast now in this last season
from summers ever held in dreams
as spectres free from reason
to form that which they may not seem

Was

I am who I was then
reflected in train carriage windows
going nowhere in particular