of black and bright, between the honeyed dawn
and stubborn shadows, fading but not gone,
of velvet night. I walk as in a daze,
led on by signs that you are somewhere near -
an eagle wheeling in the warming air,
a rain of petals dashed with fragrance rare,
an orca whale's high singing, far but clear.
Pursuing omens, chased by fears, I thread
this labyrinth of roses decked with thorns,
no other compass than my heart's command.
But you are nowhere to be found. Instead
of touching you as dreamed a thousand morns,
I strain to touch the memory of your hand.