Opaque
Opaque, before the light of early dawn,
a window pane, a portal to my youth,
plays visions out of time. My eyes are drawn
to scenes within. An oracle of truth
embraces me, its chilly arms enfolding
my heart and all my dreams. She loves him yet;
she mourns the distant hand she could be holding,
the touch her mind and body can’t forget.
As dark as any moonless night I’ve known,
and darker still, my heart. What muse that’s left
is black as any crow that’s ever flown,
beyond despair and utterly bereft--
as if the eyes of God were unforgiving,
as if my soul had died and left me living.
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