Deja Vu

Here , a sensory note plays
something familiar,
a tone
faintly brutal
then silence so profound
that the world shrinks back,
the heart draws up old armour
so chinked and bent
it should not fit.
Resist the memory of spoken words.
They were misheard,
circumlocutions
or unguided endearments
from wishful thoughts.
We are unguarded in our hopes
and lovers stand in stillness
at the edge of sight
in quick and tiny studies
of shadow and light
that obscure themselves in darkness
unsupported by real touch memory
until you have become
the blind spot
nagging occassion to remind
that something is always really there
unacknowledged or feared
it trips back upon itself
like believing in ghosts but
declaring that you don't.