Classic Poem

I try the dead lighter.
It is the dark.
And all I want from the world
now is a match
just one
not two!
But the flame
as it quickly expires
like history succeeds only
in scorching the edges
with its final breath.
This is really what happens.
Who knows in what ways
God is liable
to think?
So then:
I want to spend tomorrow morning
as though it were a new dinar
that lures me into dubious places
where I steal off from instant
to instant, like a wave
of conspiring figures
lashing the walls of secret
passages with the tongues
of their lanterns, till I find
you somewhere there
a creature of music who invites
me to play
all night long