I can remember losing a lot of memories in cloudy water
like a milky stare, like a child's gift swept angrily away
past immeasurably wounded eyes, the first landmark of adulthood
and confusion in the face of stupid cruelty.
I can see myself going blind with the sunset;
I cannot feel the touchstones I once held in hand:
light, rest, reason and faith.
All fades, yet I remember you, my gilded Lily.
I am encompassed by the night, these grassy rustlings, but you have a bright ghost.
Having lost even the deathly sense of the drowning glass, the looking glass,
the glass darkly swimming between blue hands,
your lingering warmth is all of mine.
God took you from me.
I would have been as jealous of my love.