By delicate flower
Date: 17 February 1999

Studio

I feel your eyes following me
as I stumble about this room
I should know by now,
even in the dark.

You offer no help, no words of encouragement,
as I try to make my way to you.
It is obvious to all the ghosts
that you do not care.

I'm tired of this darkness
to which I'm never accustomed,
of groping at the furniture,
like a child learning to walk.

If only you would say something,
just so I knew where to place the next step,
that I was headed vaguely in the right direction.
But you let me bruise my shin on the coffee table,

trip over the futon, 
and still I'm no closer.
I should stop, wait,
see if you will come to me;

but the dark is so large,
I am nothing in it,
and I need to keep moving
or else disappear.