It is like stalking thin, haunted air,
and forever coming up empty,
she, the dark lady, a shallow fret,
the one who will surely bring you to grief.
This you knew, and craved, as soon as
you laid eyes on her, lightning
in a cracked bottle, a wordless forecast
signing winter’s rosy edge.
This is how you plunge,
how you reset wounds
to an unremembered pledge,
dreaming in reverse.