Love, be gone, be gone!

Love, be gone.

It has begun.

Oh, cold depth

of his wondrous shadow—

The Moon casts

His silver sword

though the window

of my roof,

to make my shadow

sleep among the heather

as I weep

for his shining face,

so out of reach—

My Knight of Nights

I pine with

echoes of the strike

of midnight

of the clock,

on which rests His face

with a steady ticking

on His brow—

Time for the now,

and of times before I,

times after I,

times with Him,

and for us—

Times so out of reach.

In twilight's twisted hour,

even my shade has departed

in this hour- and that hour.

No flight for me

from the sight

of the powdery sky—

The sultry haze

that smothers.

I see you not,

but feel you still

as a throbbing

in my heart

and in my mind,

and with my heart in mind,

a numbness seeps

from the corners of my mouth

to envelope my whole.

Blessed sleep has arrived

to cease my solemn vigil.

In the morning

I rise to write for you.

Fresh dew pools around my eyes,

as I hold pure, white paper

to mate with pen.