A Near Romance

With radiant fury to beat back the light,

She sweeps by the finical fringes of night.

Her burden's replete with the cargo of sleep,

But she's fleet without din or duress.

In the fabric of dreams does she dress.

Where somnolent shades incessantly sway

And motes of old moments retreat from the day,

She strays through the sky as a shimmering sigh.

Amid drowsy designs she descends.

Aimless visions she wantonly sends.

Dysphoric delight's in the daze that she's spread

Where dozy delirium's remnants have fled.

Mere traces remain from the grace of her grain,

For memory's formless and faint.

It fades without rule or restraint.