Illusions

I

see darkness

reflecting in the eyes

of a

woman

mysteriously smiling,

praying for

what is right,

as I gaze from a window

into the night.

Are

these illusions

do I see or even hear?

Are

these things

I write to a

woman

I cannot

reach or touch

the fears of what

I feel,

attraction

lost

to these

illusions

of my pride.

I cannot say

for certain,

but of this I am sure,

that there is a

mystic

moment

in writing to a

woman

for which these

illusions endure