Still Waters

Captivated.

A flash of white wisped alabaster flesh

glimpsed and shimmering, hallowed in gold,

floating against seas of bitumen black;

and she does not know, for she cannot know,

the sustaining, soul wrenching, life giving

ambrosia, exuding from each pore.

And so when visions blur and night time dreams

fade to the expositions of the day –

we cling on to soft stirrings of recall.

We touch, taste, smell, until at the margins

of extended grasp, they fade to nothing –

insubstantial emptiness – negation – 

of all that makes up the sum of our now.

Then we’re thrust forward, full throated in fear,

to the place of our abode, replaying

the soft touch of lips as we then divest

the ritual of dreams to transient now.

Like the whispered kiss of a dying wind

or fading blue curls from a knotted briar.

We know that it’s but a dream after all

and the power of dreams to captivate…