Someday you will tell that man at that point you will know
I was like, to the Elizabethan, what was a midsummer night’s dream.
That you wish you could have met me some years before
Illogical and as in vain as it might seem.
When I go, you will not know it by then,
And you will not know till you take your eyes off the beam
That, in the blinding light, what you lost in vain
Is what when you see me you will see me from what I seem.
Yes, I dream – where you are, I am there
Watching through the darkness silent like the eyes
On the hanging, held by string, from the cold, wall where
One smile is the equal of uncounted sighs.
Like the dream – where my beauty, its softest strain
Strokes my insides whenever I am lost
And as I am shown repulsion again and again
With one last slow sigh I resign to frost.