A sylph is passing my threshold stair,
Drifting her fragrance through the vine,
Promising dreams of a never-could-be
From the loss and the lapse of a former time.
She finds me adrift in a restless sleep
Alone at the reins of a phantom hearse,
She plants a kiss upon either cheek
'A gift, ' she says, 'from the universe.'
I try to wake, but she hushes me
Wednesday, November 19, 2008