The almond days, awful, delirious,
Pass as do memories of pastel nights
When the moon shone like youth
Lumbering through death’s land
And your eyes were sufficient light
To guide my hands to your breasts
And morning came just as we did,
thrusting all grave thoughts away.
The stars tonight barely winked
Under winter’s white lashes—
Breath before me like incense
Glowing under the streetlights,
And in my mawkish, wormy mind
The moon’s a mere lonely votive
lit with devoted, trembling hands
suddenly so small and so cold.
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