You travel a long way between the sun and darkness,
restless fear reading itself into your bones.
She’s enchanting, you say. And blush. And stop speaking.
Has any one recognized your overlong trousers,
in the walk of vulnerable stag, when you
pursue a spellbound memory all alone in the crowd?
Did people summon up this fear? Have fetishes run out?
Cities too transparent for you and you for them?
Only she unknowingly slipped into you,
where she’s offering a Milky Way, a honeyed hand,
all fragrances and names of the wind, pains and passions.
And in the language she speaks everything laughs.
You’d like to walk your legs off. You know that. Nothing
has changed from the outside: you can whistle a tune as you
did before. But you think of her. Enchanting, you say. And blush.