The Stone Gardens

Here,as the
newly-satined night
grasps the remains of the day,

thoughts flare and spiral
like fireflies.

And words crawl
across the page,
meaningless as
the night-jar`s voice.

In the blank face of a window,
the town is bathed in sleep
and burnt-eyed longing.

There is a sound,
a heartbeat,
a sadness of
solitary footsteps

and the fierce glare
of lamplight
condemns me,

knowing I will never capture
moon and stars
on an April night

or the you-shaped silence
which grows and grows.