asleep

the form against your frame,
spills like shadow but your face
does not remind me of ghosts
and the scent of old rain,
you are still freshly pressed,
white cotton dress, perfumed
clean, monolithic-faced,
i speak silence to silence,
from room to room, cold
and demolished inside me,
as gray space tip itself
over the horizon of my eyes,
i've never known distance
as close to this in my heart,
my breath hangs in the balance
i am hardened as stone-churches,
the colors escape me, the air
burrs and catches with me,
somewhere warm and still holy,
we slowly slip into sleeplessness,
as we wake in old forgetfulness
of things we could not yet face