I dreamed a sort of dream of this.
You were standing in the shadow of a tree,
which was much closer to me as I
lingered between earth, water and sky.
That is, between this life and the entirety of it;
this beauty and another that cannot
be enough explored…territories lesser known.
A puzzle, to live in this time and to seek
beyond its borders where nothing can be
mistaken, ruined, lost, made too small.
But then your shadow, an eyelash slip through time,
opened up my mind as tremors of winter’s
coldness taunted me and left.
Darkness creased that greenness and my face
and between those, reflections of light.
I hummed of autumn as winter was tasted
on my tongue, then you were there,
then not, an early snow melting
before it found the place I stood alone.
But I recalled this body and good spirit
and deepening echoes of beyond.
No sadness for leaves laying rust and gold
upon my shoulders, no fear of fickle skies.
Beauty cannot cease when it is never done.
Shadows will not fail in visitation–
the fleeting twins of design I half may see.
They hint of more to be revealed and
it is not one thing or another I will greet
but a motley gathering of known/unknown–
truths patched together, words offered or not,
brush of fingers on bark or softer skin,
a dance given under thirty-one stars.
Yes, I dreamed a sort of dream of this.
You were standing in shadows of trees,
closer to me than silk of breath,
your form near, then receding
as I reached midway between your self and mine.