Pictures

There is a swelling shadow, formlessly Moving behind my lover's light; Self-sustaining, feeding of itself, Its ever-changing shape I cannot bear to see. Moving stills of sound and light are spilling through The projector of my mind; playing like the first time, I am no less unprepared; And a darkness undresses me of everything. Don't bend my eyes to that horizon - Rather let me fill with meaning every corner of the sky; Eyes which may be born of believing I could not be needed so much by anyone. The picture whole is seldom seen And far less understood. I'll see only fragmentary parts And fill the spaces as the dark deems right. Turn me away from that horizon - There is no too great a distance I will not stretch my eyes - Before the shadow is perfected By the last time; And the last time.