all alone, and

here are the stars again

holding winter over the square

and here is the waning moon

shining its last clarity

into my thoughts

and all i feel in this night

is that breezy abandon

the same steadfast recklessness

that i’ve held close to me

through every word I spoke

like in those precious dawns

when we parted in manner,

our eyes heavy with fondness

and mine with the sleep I denied

in my betraying confidence

to keep you talking ~

still the quiet in your nature

glowed in the night over our heads ~

and when you asked if I danced

I said I had two left feet

and couldn’t sing to save my life ~

yet, I sang for you, as I sing today

lost as the dreamer I held before you

my Lilac Tree with its strange delights

those baffled swirls of passion and hypnotism

and these desperate shadows,

like in the image of you

standing in that fated corridor

that still haunts me today

and ofcourse, this poetry I have no claim to

are all that remain

and though time will have this seperation

and this night and this same waning moon

cratered in our memories, like distant myths

imploring the present and absorbing us

over some painful winter fire

when our lives are lived and our stars counted

I will tenaciously say

(for fate is something I care less about,

  like cheap nostalgic poetry)

that there is yet one last dance

one last dance,

one last dance over this freedom we find

along those baffled swirls again

once this moon wanes and blooms again

I will wait here for one last dance

over the silent brigdes of this night

on the cadence swelling in the lights

lowering the sky to its rightful depth

under our feet, under our feet

where the moment is known

like the sweat on our brows

like the grip of your hand

like the floors of your home

as we dance past the song

past the music

and past the silence

to side-step fear and remember

the Grace that is here

sees that though we falter

we will falter

only into the rhythms

of this one last dance

forever