Upon the Ledger of Stolen Moments



Wearing her perfume

Is like donning Freya’s falcon coat –

A sacred ritual,

A thing not in the realm of mortal men,

An act of not-quite blasphemy

Akin to turning back the hourglass of life

One fraction of an instant –

Yet, I count the cost.


Pale Death doubtless keeps a tally

Of moments such as these,

Marking with his heavy quill

Each second I borrow from him,

For surely these stolen moments

Of desiderium for a dream long lost,

Of a kind of twilight haze that settles over one

Only in the aftermath,

When all that is left of her is silence,

Surely, for this, and more, I count the cost.


For these moments, surely

I sacrifice myself to myself,

Hanging upon the world tree impaled by my own blade,

Surely, a debt accrued must one day be paid,


For every moment of tender joy and ardent longing

I hoard in the bitter month of October,

Surely, I pay, one day in the middle

Of an otherwise blissful May.


Lost to Me



I know you exist,

Somewhere in the haze of my memory,

And I watch you through the thickening fog,

Swirling past the gaps borne of the years that separate us,

Gathering between me and my gallery of ghosts,

The people I left behind,

Those relationships that ended at the gallows,

And those that still haunt me.


But here’s to you, you whose name I don’t remember,

You who are lost to me,

You whom the fog has swallowed, entire,

Never to surface again

In imperfect memory;

Maybe I still dream of you;

I wouldn’t know,

For when I close my eyes to think of you,

It is just the mask of the past I see,

Lonely and completely, utterly lost to me.


Forgive me;

I have forgotten you.