Islands
Islands
by C.L. Quigley
Last night, I wrote a poem
for you in my dream.
Titled “Islands,”
it must have been about
the water
between hands and bodies
standing alone within the blue.
When I try to remember the poem –
words and letters spelled out
lines without rhymes –
My desire dams the truth.
Past midnight –
Over dormant cinder cones
between stars and black –
Letters written on air
in my sleeping brain
evaporate from my pillow.
Above the roof, ink fades –
pages brown.
Great ending image. It just hit me while I was logging in. Ties in with the title and what isolates one from others, dreams, and finding the words for them.
Consider it published. Thank you, H&H.
and Thank You, Randall, for your thoughtful reply.