Where Is She

Where is she, where is that touch, smooth
flesh, passionate embrace, tongue, lips,
ideal eyes?

Has she gone or are dreams merely over
when they are over?  A dry thirst
is not the source
or sated in the same way:

water has become water again, hunger
betrays its keener sense.

Absence knows where a presence, sweet
and succulent, becomes itself.
Where is she, why is night

colder, no longer satisfied with full moons,
scattered, quiet lights?
Somewhere beyond the boulevard
an echo restates a misery only echoes know:

resounding through the night
there's no place to be heard.

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