I have seen the dim staring eyes
return beneath the dim glare
of a solitary flickering street light
dying away in this dying city.
The eyes are ghosts here
blue pale eyes
that stare in their sincere affliction.
I hold the razored night
in its imploring cruelty;
and the night knows no remorse,
but bleeds from its own sharpness,
bleeds over this dying city
a red haze darker
than the darkest night.
Only the eyes are alive
in this dark, only.
Her eyes like ghosts here,
the dim staring eyes
claw within,
tearing away the soul
like a ligament from the bone,
tearing away the soul in its want,
—and departed, the soul.

I remember only your eyes,
the dim staring eyes, if ever again your eyes.