(dis)appear

Internal fog clouds my view. 
You stand like a vague misshapen form
born of my imagination
stationed here and now.
How when all else flies can this
bliss be pushed down by
my - or your - inability
instability?

Wings so fatigued
believe still that labored flight
might transform to painless soaring.
Morning breaks your shadow in
when to my view
you                                           


                          ?

This is what dreams are made of
love is nothing (what?)
but a fleeting shadow
growing out of light -
white transformed away from black
back.

Where are you?
Viewed shadows (dis)
appear with the dawn.
Gone.