And nothing happened: day was all but done

And nothing happened: day was all but done,
the stars were hanging on the darkened blanket
of sky, the moons resounded in the spheres
and prophets slept in stations. Nothing happened

when I whispered the magic word, when I believed
in gods and love, when I believed I had her
and could realize ideals. And nothing happened:
the trees were silent, the squirrels didn't jump

from branch to branch, there were no birds singing
nor clouds holding water. Day was all but done
when a purple light split the veil: her arms

and hair, her will and desire, her autonomy
annihilating scripture. And nothing happened:
a lake in which they see their own reflection.