The returns of the moon
Bring back the dead
Deformed.
To the fool’s eye
Transfigured.

Sunset has seen them.
Blue forms
In long shadows,
Tangents of red on green.

Here is the other shore.
Here mist adds a tenderness
To your cheeks
Where distance throbs.

Where is the snow
We walked on?
The valley
Where you picked crocus?

Vision revives a memory
Only to lose you again.

IN: James Houlihan