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At dawn, I turn my face from the sun
So at night, I can dream of the light in you.
***
When will “sweetness” be more than a word
I use to guess at the light in you?
***
Even children who laugh at the quiet stars
Talk in their sleep about the light in you.
***
I envy the evening in its blushing joy,
Flushed at the thought of the light in you.
***
Happy the poet who forgets all his songs
Save the song he sings of the light in you.
Blood-drunk, we stumble,
Singing murdersongs,
Confessions,
Walking ragged maps
Of violence
Across this city night.
***
Shall we sleep off
This madness,
This sweet, bloody stupor?
Will a clue
In our dreaming
Show us the light?
Where I am from, it is custom
To bury the dead with a star in their mouth
So their songs can’t be told apart
From those of the nightingale.
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Nights past
We slept
In a net of music
***
Years later, I learned
They simply wished to know
If the sweetness of their words
Had made a difference.
I’m sorry;
You deserved more
Than the bellwether friendship
Of the night
***
And perhaps
The romance of the dark
Is not the same
For all of us
***
You needed a friend
And not another Poet
To crown you
In starlight and frost
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What was this love
If it wasn’t
The elevation of ruin
Or the false ideal?
***
I don’t know
***
But to freeze you
In a perfect moment
Was injustice
Opening a seam
Of night
***
A sound
Of silent thunders
***
If the sky could crack…
***
And stepping through
A cascade of sapphires
***
All romances
Unchosen
***
The other side is
Exhilaration
***
And the breathless world
Stars and planets
Slowly reconfigure the night
As she comes
***
So when I look to the sky,
I remember her.
***
When breath stops
And the evening holds
No sighs
***
In the silence
I begin to sing for her.
We do violence to the stars
When we make of them
The bearers of our desires.
***
We do violence to the night
When we make of it
The map of our dreams.
***
We do violence to the seasons
When we make them revolve
Around the axis of our egos.
***
We would do well
To let them speak
For themselves.
You may turn a corner,
Find me spinning
A parable of stars
***
I’ve been waiting
For darkness to coalesce
Into your exact shape
***
The night
Had to try on
A thousand different moods
***
Before it decided
We were ready
To talk
They’ll have to translate
All of those sunsets I muttered
“He liked how final it all sounded “
They’ll say
“He chose
A particular geometry of shadow
Because he knew it would never happen
That way again”
“And just how
He only addressed her
In the silence between heartbeats…”
Has the night ever been the same
Since then?
There were fireworks at our wedding.
In French, we would say feux d’artifice: a construction of fire.
Each moment, we weave this love out of the light in our eyes.
Each moment, a rush, a rising heat, a revelation of flame.
If each union is a type of daring, audacious lovers inscribe themselves in sudden light across the night sky.
Look, darling! See how they go quiet as we make a canvas of the night together.
Our love so bright as to be reflected in countless eyes.
I remember the fireworks at our wedding, as we begin to build our house made of stars.
Dreams, Midnight, Stars And Twilight 
What is Said, What is Done