I'm never alone for Fancy is always with me.
She's sometimes coy and teasing; other times
she loops her arm through mine and holds me
against her. Often she emerges with tilted head,
fey and vague, mistily apprehensive to break
into my solitude. Frequently she'll cascade over
my piqued senses, boisterous, demanding, exhausting.
This woman named Fancy: she's my only friend,
all I have, my constant companion as I pass along
the marsh embankments or lie sleepless in my bed,
troubled by those anxious hours of early morning.
Dressed in dreams, scarfed with hope and hindsight,
she's so much more fragrant than her sister Reality,
my inescapable mistress sullen at our breakfast table.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem