May 21, 2014


Lying flat on
the fragrant earth
   I listen to the grasses whisper,
   I sing a song,
and I dream.

   I dream
            that your eyes are shining
with a smile mine, mine alone.

   I dream
that I am touching
some happy thing your hand has warmed.

   I dream
-oh, I dream
of things impossible-
  like a foolish spider
     spinning flimsy webs
in but a moment swept away
by cruel winds of disillusionment.

What does it matter?
Why should I cease
When all my life
is in dreams?