Quixote

before the unopposed light
I rose evenly to the patient soft hour
to the  taste of your eyes

in geometric circles
within windmills turning
 they fought in sleep

in an opposed reasoning
of lesser dreams
I subtracted  a feeble dawn

 from Quixote's journeying soul
unpossessed as yet
in opening 

I watched through windows
this enclosed darkness yielding
forgotten nights

deeper shadows on the streets below
where rain hides all traces
of how the door closes

and hero's fall 
beneath  folding hellos,
 and past neat good-byes
that your fingers deny
into waking