This Night Is Troubled Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

It’s as if, I wrote tonight,
That when you took flight
You plundered everything away from my sight,
The clairvoyant walls careen to my frail shoulder,
Where there is a diminutive town
That falls apart with every frown
Made in my deep, gnawing sleep

The Sun froze in my palm,
The blue of its corona, once feverish
Now icy cerulean – it is because you took
Every light of the Sun that shone upon the brook
Of which beside a rock, I incised your name,
And threw it, and made a turbulent ripple-
There your image ushered in between wavelengths,
And after a blink of an eye, grew fainter
As if the Sun called upon your name,
With your ears cupped and fulminating
Like the moon, your body metamorphing,
My sadness raving

And perhaps my only friend, the moon
Has grown weary of my voice in the latter hours
Where the moon wavered sleep, and then
In her slumber, I disturb her peace and ruin her pace
Just to tell her how the daggers, the memories haunt
Me at night, where the spectral images twist askew
In the canvasses of the vast piece of art and that is,
The art of abandonment – to convalesce,
Or perhaps, coiled in a supine ache, I regress
The shadows come and raze my fortress –
Your shadows, the shades of your hands illuminated by the Sun,
The vestige of your dandy feet,
The scent of your sapid voice,
Everywhere I go, they follow me,
How can I go about tranquility?
If I am bothered so much by each flashing memory
Of how you drank the Sun and chained the moon
To my body – now the weight of the moon
Is my only friend, oh carnal moon,
I apologize for my frailty

You have left, as if cold in blood,
And sultry in stare,
Where am I to go?
You are a seraph bequeathed,
And now a haunted caricature –
Tell me, where in this world
Am I going to find my place?
If all I see is your poignant face?