I Couldn't Get Away From Their Ghosts And The Dreams And Such
Only last night they came again—
those pale, insistent travelers of sleep,
moving through the corridors of my mind
as softly as breath on glass.
I had never walked in Italy before,
neither by sun nor by moon,
yet there it rose before me—
blue skies opened like silk above stone,
and the hills lay bare of trees,
gold and waiting like an ancient promise.
She was there among them,
laughing as if time had no meaning,
her hands shaping the air itself,
lifting and lowering the moment
until my heart spilled out its wonder, upward
and I vanished into light.
They raced one another across the fields,
ghosts and girls and flickers of desire,
while I stood rooted in the dream,
aching with the sweetness of it,
unable to follow the succubus
unable to wake from such a wicked dream.
And when morning finally found me spent,
their footsteps still rang in my head —
proof that even where we have never lived before ,
can still haunt us,
and even what we have never touched,
still intensely touches us
It still can haunt me like that memory and.
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