Or Did She Sigh?

For your own good
she sleepily seemed to say
as, in the clouds, she persistently floats away:
only to dream
only to wake
staring transfixed in a
full lunar cycle crowding the night,
trapped, planted – yes –
with several material lies yet to confess.
An explorer –
a depressed spirit –
excluded from imagination
she creeps upon a steep
plateau, where she knows
bruises dance in unison
and her eyes close at the sight.
     –  4/5/93