I keep dreaming about you. What’s going
on? What magic have you imposed on my
subconscious, my psyche ever flowing,
ever returning to your image? Why
constantly in sleep? By day your soft face
may flash before me in brief reflection
like a mirror’s instant gleam. Bolt of grace
striking and then gone. Yet your projection
glows like moonlight through darkest night, ever
returning. Your face ever smiling, slight
disbelief at my gaze, at my clever
phrases caressing your presence, your light
enfolding me like galaxies it seems,
or Freud distantly enjoying my dreams.
Roger Armbrust
September 26, 2011
