The Atmosphere Of 4 A.M.

Did the moon
shed so much light
that it erased the blue from your eyes?

In the dark
you were unbeautiful
for a moment
and I was entranced
by another love
that shines softly for ghosts,
for comfort upon the stalks of wheat,
walking alone
among whispers,
among eyes of fiber
tickling the archaic premises
of my animal neurons
and tripping up
my shadow by the breathing of the breeze
that awakes me unto the palace mirrors of your eyes.

Again, I stand on Himalayan rooftops,
          displaced in time.

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