My Recurring Dream
(after Paul Verlaine)
I often have this strange and vivid dream:
a woman I don't know - but we're in love.
She's not, each time I see her, quite the same,
nor truly other: loves me, and knows of
my pain. She understands. My heart, to her,
is see-through. She can take my cares away.
My forehead she refreshes with her pure,
kind tears, as only she can do. You say,
she's dark? She's blonde, or redhead? I don't care.
Her name? I only know it's sweet and low,
like names of lovers lost, long years ago.
Her eyes? Think of a statue's even stare.
Her voice is calm but far-off, laced with dread,
the voice of those we've loved, who now are dead.
|