Haunted, ITQ

Tree boughs scope me by window glass, As the long night without stars pass The moon out like dead rock— the last Time dark mornings will be so vast. Around my boughs, raining's ghost wane, Falling by frost and Winter drape On each neck of shaked off leaves' fade— A gone beauty's heat, spent in pain. White bough's gloom in the swaying trees For springtime's parched-for reveries— On fogged glass, it reflects with me The old, old, January bleak. From the window, my breathlessness For boughs straining in rainy gust.