I do not dream. The closing eye of the Sun

I do not dream. The closing eye of the Sun
makes splendid colors, the curving purple hue,
the gradient of orange. O the silhouettes
of trees on the horizon! I do not dream,

I do not read nor see, I do not know
the mystery of the light. The opening eye
of a lover in the dark, the whispered word
and arbitrary love, the curving violet hue

of her soft dress. I do not dream. She says
a few words in the silence of the evening
that bounce back off the walls. The silhouettes

of figures in the window, I do not dream,
I do not love nor live. I do not know
the secrets of her ridiculous language.