The Specter

He sits alone amid the mirror of waves and looks out at the violet
Whose departure, winking at him, folds
Into the ocean's spreading cold;

As if she were stirring a blurring
Drink, the sun's light sinks.

A cold wind rises from the mere, now grown translucent in the glow
Of an ascendant thought transcending into visionary fields
Its earlier reflections had concealed. Thinking of a taste or sound
Something like a woman's gown, he stretches on the sea's vibrations
And he sleeps.