In you I saw the
Soil crawling down
Your fingertips
And the ink on
Your left wrist.

I heard the
Velvet Sound
Of the solo darkness;
The unspoken.
I kept busy.

In you I felt your
Half-closed eyes and
The breeze that sang me
“Your song.”
The goddamn breeze
In that ephemeral beauty.

I played with the strings,
With the white sand
From the Riviera;
I made another you
out of the clay.

And then I had to look.
You don’t know
Where to look.
You are the ecstasy.


Toronto – January 2016