Reflections

I looked into her eyes
and saw the night
reflected there,
and I told her of the dark
and how it lived in its mirror;
how each star
became a pointer
guiding us into the far future,
beckoning steadily.
How the trees
against the shining horizon
reminded me of a ballet
that can dance into a full eternity.
How the stiff gable of a house
became real
only when it was night
and it was no longer itself
but only a part of the background it made;
how the hushing of the wind
was the only music that to me
had no aftertaste of life,
but only of the everlasting things
that are somehow good
without a cause.
I looked into her eyes again
but they were made for the night
that I had made live for her
and that was for me alone.
I left her there, wondering
if I could catch my last tram....

—Ralph Unger.