Convincingly Real Dreams

At home –
drowning in the fire,
burning in the ocean,
I have a dream of this woman
with whom I have talked,
but only once
or twice.

One time when I showed her a passage
from a book
and the second time
when she asked me:
whom do you write your poems for?

and I answered rhetorically.

She stands tall;
has the cold gaze of the freezing winter,
and if she bites her lips,
the entire Roman army at its prime
would bleed.

In the dream
I played with her hair
while she rested her head on my lap
and my head went nearer and nearer to hers
with every passing moment.

And this was a dream
convincingly real like all the dreams
from which I woke up
to a life
where we never speak,
or walk together,
or groom cats,
or talk of absurd art,
or be silent together,
or kiss,
or make love.

3 thoughts on “Convincingly Real Dreams”

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