I'll watch and I'll stand

and let a passing cloud

hit by moonlight

make a rimmed spectacle

of a distant wait.

 

I'll shift my weight and

I'll blink

and recall wordless

feelings before

I put into words

those useless conditions.

 

It's the words,

with their wanton

un-mouthed ache,

that bleat silently

against the ear

and tangle those

as yet un-marked

and un-surveyed

desires.

Their cerebral

obliterating duster

transforming an

ancient passion
into a smudge. 

 

 

I blink again and return 

to my frosted gate

pausing to catch

a reflection

of the nearly moon

break free from

the hiding clouds-

and for an instant

my feelings,

unwritten,

unspoken,

return.