The Thief in the Night

You're fire and ice, you're the end of the world,
And I don't even know if you know me,
Love me, hate me, pity me, despise me...

Do you remember it like I do?
Delicate endless movement on palm on palm,
Of tracing fingers and uncertain searching looks.
Please tell me that you felt it too.
I have never claimed to understand you.

III

You spin and whirl and rage through the world
Conducting unknowing with eyes, jaw, arms,
Through void and mist and stars you dance.
I see you rage but I can't quite hear the music.
If all lives are music, I haven't yet begun to compose...
Better to compose than to decompose.
I think you unwrite your music
And deprive the rest of us of genius.
Am I anything to you?

You're in my head all day,
Conjured by smells and memories and thoughts.
Your face so sweet and fine
But all unknowing of its beauty
Looks like truth to me, truth of me.
Your voice so sweet and rich
But so self-deprecating
Echoes its resonance within my lungs.
Soft thick hair, shell-like ears,
Eyes like liquid hurt, so green
Strong sure violent hands...

Through the dirty windows I see glimmers.
Those bright jewels of pain sparkle there in the dark,
With gems of hate, anger, confusion, and despair.
Like a thief in the night I covet them,
Long to turn their richness in my sweaty palms,
To test their coolness on my tongue.
I want to reach through your guarding bars,
To steal your treasures and swallow them
You'd be left so empty and I could fill you.
We could listen to the music together in the dark
And find meaning in sweat and tears.

Spring 1995