Does she know the day? (for Karla)

I came to know her from darkness,
since she came on soft crow wings.
She flew on black angles, with eyes
lit by the autumn's stray starlight.

I came to know her in darkness,
and she's still in my mind's eye...
wings turning the night's long page.

She showed me strange music,
gave permission for madness,
explained the hearts of Libras,
and laughed with a rare “Ha!”

How fiery her words burn
and passionate her heart is!
How alive in old legends
and as faithful as a child.

She taught me strange music,
with her gypsy skirt swirling,
the sound of loping tuba stride
like a wounded soul smiling.

And so many other records
from so many other genres
and all of them cool-rocking.

I would be a damn fool liar
if I said she wasn't alluring.
And it took me many moons
to cherish simple friendship.

And now when the night hangs
on the mystery of sad dreams,
I can't quite ever picture her
in the brightness of a dull sun.

When the night turns Poe pages,
with poems of melodrama...
I ponder a strange question:

does she ever know the day?