The night was moon-bright and I was so hopeful when I got to the party.
There was music and three types of cheese, many beautiful people were there,
and you were there too. You took up so much space, you were all I could see,
and still you were distant. I tried to speak but when I said something
to you, what was said caused your face to become a cloud passing quickly
before the full moon, which reminded me of something The Poet said
about emotions and Nature but which I could not remember. Then my face
became that darkness and yours became again luminous and very distant.
When you turned away I wished I was floating on the ceiling, like a ghost
or a small damp cloud (I suppose that if I could not be your light
I did not, at least, want to be so terrestrial) and that, when the room
became too much, as it always did, I could slip quietly from an open window.