Transference

There again

you see:

I’ve conflated the moon

with light,

with warmth.

A cold, airless clod,

to whom I mean nothing,

crooning its lifeless hymn

as it unreliably

reflects the soul

of our loving star.

To look too hard

is sometimes to

see everything 

and yet nothing.

You are there:

in faces, in embraces,

in smells, in songs,

in tastes, in laughs,

yet nowhere.