I dance
my dreams
to the silvery
moonbeams of
yesterday’s
meeting:
that fleeting touch,
that soft glance
tears wiped away
together,
an eternity
of belonging;
and,
perhaps,
yes ‘perhaps’,
to count magic
in the
autumn leaves
slowly straying
like drifts
of unforgettable music
in the soft dawn breeze;
just ahead about me,
(somewhere)
heralding that
narrowing bend
of life,
autumn perhaps?
Making me reach out
and hold,
futilely, foolishly;
longing
for you
over and over again,
as if
cheating disappointment
at it’s own wily game,
knowing
you
will
never come.
Still
I want to reach you
and hold you close
in the strongest of wishes;
closer and still
closer
and savour dusty,
tear-streaked emotions
(long ignited and now stilled,
stubborn, dreary soot
around that worn-out wick,
it’s not going away!)
born out of nothingness
and
the beauty
of your soft,
hopeful
hazel eyes
which knew me once
to cajole
my meagre existence
into a meaning of sorts.
I still
long to hold you
so close,
so very close
that in our oneness,
even our eyes would see
and
yet perfect
the dream we shared.
Make haste hence,
for the road is long
and unknown;
make haste
for the light is dim
and lingering
behind are
terrible shadows
which would never permit me
rest.