My Vienesse friend
wrote she dreamt about me,
remembering only my face
in some kind of Irish mist,
not any action.
Dreams so vague are most
appealing, almost revealing.
Soundlessly, boundlessly
we may float or fly or swim
in mysterious hazy zones.
Without contours to confine us,
without borders to define us
(in my case with only a face,
reduced to abstraction)
substance is forgiven for
keeping monopoly beyond
the gauze, perhaps forbidden
to enter such spaces
or to inhabit lazy bones.
wrote she dreamt about me,
remembering only my face
in some kind of Irish mist,
not any action.
Dreams so vague are most
appealing, almost revealing.
Soundlessly, boundlessly
we may float or fly or swim
in mysterious hazy zones.
Without contours to confine us,
without borders to define us
(in my case with only a face,
reduced to abstraction)
substance is forgiven for
keeping monopoly beyond
the gauze, perhaps forbidden
to enter such spaces
or to inhabit lazy bones.
Written for The Mag: Mag 131 that inspired with the above photo prompt
(Under Windsor Bridge, 1912, by Adolphe Valette).
.
