"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
are of imagination all compact"
-William Shakespeare


Rain rose reversed in a dream overnight,
what fell to earth were strange faced bugs like blight,
souls cursed where e'en in dreams peace extradites,
What is worse the nightmare or lost Love's plight?

I arose, graven starkness carved in bone
naked, damp stunned as dull as cortisone,
dripped slow realizing little bird had flown,
no haven darkness when you're this alone

It sunk in when you left you took the moon,
peering cross the fenced yard where trash is strewn
and white three legged pit bull is marooned
and I as inviting as a ruin

We'd forty days and nights, one more or less
enough to flood a world or so I'd guess,
I grieve Loves declaration, your egress
it's all quite odd to me I must confess

It matters not sun night or moony days
awakened dark or sleeping solar rays
when Love is not I'm knotted in a daze
I'm loose and taut in hues of blues and craze.