The Last Dream

Across the void, you touch the fringe of me

again, like sweeping the ashes on handrails

in the grand hall of our past memory,

melting away the extinguished bodies of candles 

swirling round the chandelier,

the dead light, the empty brightness.

Your fingers once cleared them away,

and embedded a sweet dark fruit inside me

with a dense silence, a hard core.

Pregnant with an endless clear night,

I bloom, from the eternal burning ore

without any dust falling from earthly love.