in parentheses

I dream of her, in this park a ghost, stopping at each crossing hoping one day to turn into the moon and see a running ray come run back into my chest, and upon the silver lawn hear her words again, fore I am as I am without those bedlight whispers under all my covers those nighttime hushes in between breasts those moonlit revolutions when two hearts erase

I come to a shivurring creek of many shadows from the broken-holds of the canopy where the sun comes through I go up for some sight to blind this dream, and let poison fill my eyes no more