Requiem After a Dream


It all commenced witha journey to the edge of shadows
cast forth by a trace of light that smiled and imparted to me
truths that seemed to persist throughout eons;
Between one eon and the next a steady look speaks
directly into my Being, causing it to stir
with naïve inquiries into the state and manner of its origin.

And the Sun began to recline
possibly to fill in the gaps of lost space,
arresting every silken prayer in its wake.
An incandescent strand of her hair binds
it all together. I grab a portion and
waltz across worlds misshapen at the poles

And elongated at the center.
Her symphony arises breezily from the hazy blue
moldings that encase the equatorial seas
coursing throughout this protracted belly
of affections and passions unalloyed and unmasked.
A demigoddess once envied her tears

And attempted to destroy them,
but was distracted by the exigencies of every mangled thought
that swelled within, aching for emancipation,
begging the heart to recall every shrill note sung by
this restless hoard of deeply-perturbed, jaundiced crows
soon to drown mercilessly in her elegant streams.

Every angle has patiently waited outside of time, looking in,
awaiting her return. From whence will she come?
How long will they sing her praises before they glare into her windows,
erupting the seas of my solace anew?
Behold! Her silhouette glistens at the darkest hour.
She won’t weep this time; but will nourish me with the

Honeyed nectar of her voice,
which glows once ingested, then dissolves into a million questions
all asked and answered, interlocked and melded together
with slippery edges that taper off every eventide.
And every morning the journey begins again,
tracing a long, serpentine path into the shadow’s edge,

Addled by the piecemeal memory of her kisses,
Filled to surfeit with the lustful ambrosia of her
secrets disclosed under the hushed bend of this crescent glow
that shimmers no more. The rain has made it dull;
A memory dangles and fades into a patchwork of speckled flowers,
slightly recumbent, pointed in the direction where her footsteps would have been.

Art: “Untitled”
Richard Diebenkorn

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