Classic Poem

On a day when sunlight fell through rifts of wind, he came to me limping and said, " Try and draw my face. " I got a permanent pen and a clean white sheet from a secret hiding place and cautiously began drawing a circle. Sunlight, scent of wind, starlight . . . . . . a smeared circle. Shaking his head, he disappeared. The cold rain seeped endlessly into my bones. Endlessly, the fog implored me to stand, stand up. On a day when lightning roared, he came to me again and hoarsely said, " Try and draw my face. " I took out a pencil and eraser from a drawer and on yellow newsprint began to draw his hair. Galestorm, fury, history, era . . . . . . a shock of hair. Shaking my drawing of hair with his vine-like arms, he disappeared. The cold rain seeped endlessly into my bones. Endlessly, the fog implored me to stand, stand up. On a day when darkness threw open its gaping jaws, he came to me again and said, " Try and draw my face. " I took out a red pencil and on draft-sheet I began drawing his eyes. Sand, stone, tears, time . . . . . . his unfathomably deep blue eyes. " No! No! " He bellowed with his galestorm mouth. Then he disappeared. The cold rain, the cold wind seeped endlessly into my bones. Endlessly, the fog, the graves implored me to stand, stand up. A day when a face neither his nor mine expired in the darkness. A day of our permanent betrayal.