Each new sun emits the same light,

But the varying hues appeal

To my singular sense of direction.

The same golden orb rises and falls

Beyond an endless borderline.

I am a sick beast in a cage,

I am a dog running in my sleep,

I lunge to catch that bouncing glow,

To keep it hidden.

After so many miles in your shadow,

The best has been to join your name with mine,

An experience in a suffix.

Your dreams became my dreams,

Your vision filled my empty eyes.

Now this cage is the cage of my ribs

Holding ice packed hard
Around a sentiment preserved,

Chasing the unattainable sun. 

Where You Are

The pretty ones are too pretty to know their places.

The young are never too young, the old never yet old,

The toothless are laughing

or silent in dark transformation.

In the lamb's eye or the tiger's mouth,

comfort creeps into discomfort.

Acceptance or apathy adjusts
the pinks pains and grey aches

while the object of years is the same

from one death to the next.

Still the broken heart keeps beating.  

I awake in a blue shroud. Dawn’s pale glow seeps through cotton cobalt sheets, an azure wave under which I drift, dozing in a soft haze, eyes half-closed and crusted with tear sand. The shuffle of feet, the scuttle of sea crabs, pull me from the reverie dissolving in this Yves Klein tapestry. Your thin silhouette is a fleeting work of art, a mere two-dimensional paper cutout of the round, heavy night dweller. Your panicked pace and jerking joints perform my toy theatre; now for the scene of a brave and daring escape. 
As the door shuts tightly behind you, I surface gasping for air in one exasperated gesture. Airtight. A hot balloon expands against the cage of my ribs; taught pleura, a pulmonary distortion hardened and crackling as it rises. The growing pressure pulsates with the clock’s flashing red, heartbeats drowned in the blue filtered light of another empty morning.