because tomorrow we may be caught.
— Boris Pasternak
Down windy nights
Of racing clouds
When the moon was
A flickering light bulb.
You were the moon
On those endless nights
When women
In white dresses
Haunted me.
Those vapors,
Those nightly apparitions—
How they pursued me.
It causes me pain
To wonder
If your soul
Still wanders in sleep?
But I go on—
Still incomplete,
And restless
Drained by everything
Except my needs,
Wasting
Cloudy afternoons
In outdoor cafes
Where the patio umbrella
Drips rain
Like faint blue paint...
It makes me tremble
Haunted to the last
By you
And murky ghosts
Of lovers past.