When the dawn air-brushes darkness away
and the music of silence
recedes,
I am still in the clutches of dreaming
and as quiet takes wing
I stir in my bed, then send a good morning
to somewhere not here.
As first noise vapourises your shadowy
form, though I conspire
with night to keep dreaming you
clearly,
I have to arise, wipe you from my still
sleepy eyes
and pull back the dense curtains
of realization
to face here not there.
Then I find myself counting the hours
when I can begin hearing again
the music
of silence darkness will bring
so I can resume
my dream-communion with our
time, somewhere not here.
.
in that fabled land twain night and day, where poets and lovers pen their play, nymphs and knights under starry skies, those breathless moments where love applies.