Tacit [rewritten]
The dawn bows slowly over stars, and they
..Retreat. A lover wakes—and he is gone.
So ends a love—and starts another day.
So ends a love where constellations shone.
The morning star is colorless. Its light,
..As clear as pain, is focused like the throat
In song; the essence is a cipher, white,
As if the sky had found the final note.
The airs of twilight have no hue.
..They intimate a radiance from the death
….Of hours before the sun, and feel slight
Remorse, if any. They remind of you.
You left, will not return like dawn. Your breath
Is memory from one surrendered night.