as the steel regard of morning
pulls my tired soul from dreams –
another life beyond the reach
of lowly expectation
stirs within the mystery
and I close my eyes again
flirting with the patterns
where faded roses bloom –
across some great tomorrow
tis there my longing burns
letters curve unsettled
on the page –
by memories returning
of places not yet lived
light beyond the shadows
of my room
. . .
Author’s Note: Those who know me well are aware of recurrent
dreams – of a house in which I have never lived,
on a road I’ve never traveled. Yet, so familiar is the dream that I know the steps from the porch
to the gate, the slant of the yard into the trees. I know the count
of roses on the faded wallpaper,
and the pause between drips into an old basin.
Once asked, ‘Do you think it is a place nearby?
Wonder who lives there.’
My shocked response was simply, ‘I do’.
. . .