And far away
What strange trombone or clarinet
pierced through the skin of night?
What tone, now quiet, high or low
left echoes of some soft lament
and left me in its quiet wake?
Some half-remembered dream
(of wings and snow and island trees
and hair made of the morning wind
and strange deep pools of hungry flesh)
like sheets still clings to me.
The dark is like a history
of nature’s work undone,
of men and women left unsung.
The dark is like a life untouched,
filled with unwelcome memories.
Now dream and music both must fade
like colours in a storm -
and I am left with fear and sweat,
my haunted eyes,
my empty bed.
And far away (where all my dreams must end)
the sun makes love to beaches.
There you walk
and there your softness takes my fearful heart
and there your beauty tears my midnight flesh apart.