Classic Poem

This midnight brings a moonless,
glossless dark, leaving our dew unlit
and mysterious in the grass.
My lady
begins as usual to cross
the gloomy path,
barefoot over grass and I
shall see her face
framed in my window's glass.
And inside her wild eyes
the illusions will break.
There —
the dew changes
her ebony hair to green
and a damp lock clings
to her brow. Now she stretches
out her hand without a word
(lovers need none) to show where
the golden band of love has been removed
leaving a white circle of skin
like an old scar. She smiles
at me like this. A quick glance,
and leaves. She's gone,
disappearing beyond
the fogged glass. I gasp
with unkissed kisses
and turn to search the pillow perhaps
for a hair, one left behind.
Already her perfume bottle top has dust.
I clasp her nightgown with its woman's scent.
And this is all that's left? of love?