Wednesday We Wake

    For love, for yearning, for the puzzle,

    the fine blue riddle of Wednesday we wake,

    leave behind the mystic realm of moths and mirrors,

    the halfmoon strangled night where dreams

    take hold and our bodies burn.

    Do you dream of me, I wonder: the ragman

    haunting halls, softshoe dancing, propped up

    waiting with these faded eyes, this strawman heart?

    I dream of you.  I find you lost in

    unfamiliar rooms, your voice a silver song

    that heats my blood.  I dream of you,

    a diamond peach, a broken pear, the taste of time,

    of raging sea, both hard and ripe against my

    tongue, my cheek, my breath inhaling, breath

    inhaling, breathless cry of waking, breathless

    flight through unreal corridors and walls.

    Do you dream of me?  Do you say my name the way

    a lover would, with hushed and secret knowledge?

    Do you dream of me, of who I am or was?  Of roads

    and boxcar straw?  Of jukebox joints and pinball

    starlight love?  Or is your longing fresh and young,

    like a child's question, a second kiss?

    I dream of you, the eternal dream, the delicate

    dance; for love, for yearning, the fine blue

    riddle of a flame, the fine blue riddle of

    Wednesday we wake to empty beds and empty wonder.

    Your dreams are like a song.