The Outline of Fear

 The blush of a cheek errupts
without warning of hazard or the shaking of nerves
that swamps the irrational boat of memory like your voice.

Nothing percolates that cubby of churning visions
that moves me swooning with anticipation of a window
that might open at night when I am most vulnerable
to the stars and other distant light
like the outline of your face
mistaken on the street
where I sleepwalk.

I stumble
grabbing on to a doorknob
or the bark of a tree
to disappear
into the shadows
where I am quiet with my breath
and mercifully
alone.