the spine in the bible of things to be admired, but not collected

There is something whispering at me from the corner
Crackling through the air
electro-shocking my senses
kissing my cheek with its eyelashes but disappearing
before I can turn my head.
If I managed to turn a half second sooner
I might grasp it.
I could conquer and crush it into dust
and I would be sated.
Or I might pin down its torso and wings and examine them under glass in full light.
And they might die
but at least I would know them then
fully
And even as the air around me grew stale
I would have the comfort of retention

Or I could lie still
Watch the cold air wash over my fever
as I accept foreign ideas of unattainability
Find the beauty in wanting and being without
Perhaps there is benefit
in tasting only briefly.

nameless.

oh dearest.
what do I have of you but a direction?
One darkened half block that could lead to anywhere
at a time I can't remember closely enough to replicate.
where did you walk after your shadow?
I could only watch you blend with the less important dark.
To your patient lover?
To your empty bed?
I wonder if the street light lulls your imagination.
from outside your window its copper glow could let you sleep.
Can you even exist outside of our visitors building?
Like a ghost in the graveyard of my mind
I assume you appear only because I wish for you.
That you can't trespass the gates of your solitary confine.
since you don't speak
and you have no name.
how lovely and sad that you can only be what I make of you.