they romanticize the night
covet its intimate imperfections
give it the serious name of love

how their fondness
for concepts and fictions
forgets the light — the breath

emotions half-undressed
are weighed — found wanting
then excused by dear sympathy

the night builds them a forest
full of clouds and heavy
spider-web branches

how the humiliation
of morning finds them
and how they look
like you and me

Diane Mascherin 2006