In the night time runs a silver thread where fantasies unwind
silence takes a tangled trail where sight is for the blind.
By morning all is plain to see and mysteries are dispelled
but morning never knew the depth the well of midnight held.
I spent an hour underground--each second like an age
the room I left became a tomb of incoherent rage.
I saw a look that passed along love's electricity
desire to a half-thawed heart like March expectancy.