My Familiar Dream

I often have this dream, strange, penetrating,

Of a woman, unknown, whom I love, who loves me,

And who’s never, each time, the same exactly,

Nor, exactly, different: and knows me, is loving.

Oh how she knows me, and my heart, growing

Clear for her alone, is no longer a problem,

For her alone: she alone understands, then,

How to cool the sweat of my brow with her weeping.

Is she dark, blonde, or auburn? – I’ve no idea.

Her name? I remember it’s vibrant and dear,

As those of the loved that life has exiled.

Her eyes are the same as a statue’s eyes,

And in her voice, distant, serious, mild,

The tone of dear voices, those that have died.

-o0o-