By W.G. Quixote
Date: 24 May 1997

Trembling Twilight

As the day falls with its frail, failing light
sharp stars ascend and rises too the moon.
Shadows crawl in and cross my quiet room.
I sit transfixed in the dance of darkness and light
and ponder the fine balance between hope and fright,
the delicate decisions to be made very soon.

While the heavens begin their deep silent tune
I search for my destiny in the trembling twilight.
Then her gentle, gamboled image begins to appear
as across the air I hear her clear, silver voice.
I turn to touch her tenderly, she isn't there,
Just the empty room and a draft, chilled as ice.

Where is that bridge between this dream and reality?
I will find it yet, I am the son of Quixote.