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.