Euclid's Nightmare

I try to tell myself you're not a dream.
You were someone of substance once.
You cared for me, and I try to put you
Into the landscape that's become a dream.
We pick our way along the edges
Of a cliff above a rushing river, glacial,
Milky white. The sky is gray. It always is.
You flatter me. My face turns red.
I grasp your hand and ask you to remain
With me beside this river, but I wake,
And you are gone, and any river near
Is muddy brown. It isn't glacial white,
And no one's here to flatter me. I stare
Out, unaccompanied, at land, made plane
As Euclid's nightmare, wishing that you
Aren't a dream, but time and fingers
Feeling nothing tell me that you are.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 142 times
Written on 2019-05-10 at 03:50

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text