I dreamt last night I swam into your arms, rowing

My boat headlong from the dock of an ocean cottage, which in

The dream I knew to be my own sweet Eden.

But as is so often the case with dreams, I know no such place awake—Ah!

I didn’t ever really know you either; was that the

Picture my subconscious was painting? That sea

Of midnight wisdom, that deepest starry mirror of knowing, where we might

Dip our oars, test our depths? Please tell me, how may I

Touch you thus? In the dream you pressed against me, but

Pulled your hands up and back like a caught thief, when Moon broke from her moor

Encircling us in Her shimmering aureole. Tonight 

I am still no Angel. I set myself adrift in

My wingless skiff upon this Wild Sea, in search of the you so far apart from thee.