Too often I spin my days
Into an airy shroud of schemes
And supposes –
Absent this world
Until something shoulders
Past me —
Heft and shape define the darkness:
Obsidian armor cuffs
A black-gloved hand,
Gold trim pleats over a soldier’s rump,
Voices flare and a blood-red coat whips
The night air.
It is all here, so present, so passing,
Like breath –
And there you are,
Pallor seizing your face.
Startled, I lurch forward with my kiss
                                                                      – JS