You came to me in a dream last night.
Ghostly and dark, you were dressed in flowing white.
Your hair hung long. Your eyes were light. You stood near
and spoke in a whisper that I could not hear.
Together we walked through the desolate rooms
of a strange house, where faint perfumes
spiked the air. Outside, the wind blew wild.
You stopped at the door. Then you turned and smiled
and gave me your hand. I saw your beating heart
within your neck, azure veins like intricate art.
“It’s time for me to go away,” you said.
I awoke sweating on my iron bed.
Alone in your car at a red traffic light
you catch sight
of a willowy woman walking in the sudden gust
of wind: one leg bent, glistening teeth,
shielding her eyes against the dust,
black skirt beneath which her black stockings show
the flashing glow
of her alabaster skin beneath.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
Why does this sadden yet simultaneously endear?
And what’s to become of a love you
now know was only ever partly true?