By dreams, next to a winter beach,
Where I could not name
Cruel eyes from the simple cries.
I claim the great sadness
As any storm,
As my mind was dug up
To drift upon the darkest cloud.
I see smog where should be fog
From the loneliest vessel
To plume the black,
Of veins where stupor segregates
The red from the deepest dread.
Forming waves at my wake,
Casting an anchor, forever.
Save for the slowest pulse
To keep me steered at no endeavor.
A mere circle to my make
Of direction to undertake.
Twin eyes that bloom bright
The great triumph of lost sight.