Heartless Heart

again he remembers, just like tonight, he dreamt long ago about lying awake beside her beneath the bronze blanket of a lightning-scorched, stormy night; the memory, a bent optical illusion now, like that of a straight reed seen in water, shows a distorted image of that dream where it seemed he froze deep inside, dumbstruck, not so much by the wrath of the tempest gone berserk outside as by the quiet guilt now gnawing away at this one ungrateful, heartless heart; but, the teasing touch of her drowsy hand, warm upon his chin, explains everything reassuringly, so he drifts back to sleep unafraid of waking up to dream again.