ghosts of strangers

it is at moments after i have dreamed

of the rare entertainment of your eyes
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always) and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.


-e.e cummings