At the Approach of the Other the Soul Withdraws (Phaedo), So I Wonder Now: Which Mask or Face or Verse Can Be More and Which Less Congenial to Her?

 

 

Just between night and dawn

the sky is silver-blue

as if the moon had not disappeared

but poured out all she hoarded

 

deep inside her pallid face —

and the wetland mists

edge it with

a lacing breath

 

as the distant lights and dreams

are sinking back

at the approach of the sun,

 

So too the last shade
of another face,
unknown once more,
slips away
like the thinning night.