To The Lady on the Train,
Even in sleeping dreams when the delusions of our egos can beguile us to grandeur and our abilities seem boundless, I have always known. Even while the night lets me fly or visit impossible lands or act mighty and brave, there is a corner of my wandering mind that stays grounded.
In sleep or awake there is a place measured by the back of your neck to your tail bone, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, that hold the endless possibilities of a thousand galaxies. In the hollowed nape of your neck and collar bone is a place where a man could lose himself.
In dreams or awake, I have always known that your changing eyes held mysteries I could never unravel.
So it is no surprise that in the dark morning of sleep crusted eyes, numbed arms and pounding head that I should know the empty ache of you not here.
The Man in the Station
No comments:
Post a Comment