Darwin, Sickness, and Venice
My recollections made from you and of
Our time together are too much like ghosts
Of gondolas. They move in fogs of love
And far too fast in haze between the posts
On either side of grand canals. There black
Gesticulations of the water swell
In pain behind the stern. Those ghosts go slack,
Though, as they pass my heart. It slides unwell
Among these memories. Their darkness moves
With waves inside my chest until I wake
To find that you and they are lost in grooves
That waking moments cannot hope to slake.
Where are you really now that we are far
Apart? These dreams are just a wavering scar.