What happened to the lovely woman
that every night
I wanted to hold against me
and where is she now
and is there still wind
blowing through her long autumn hair
on the porch
and are her fingers still busy
paging through poetry books
and do her soft sent still hang
on the evening wind
fresh like spring rain
at times it feels as if you fade away
and our love wants to take
another course
and maybe it was only a dream,
but from it
I never want to wake
and every moment it becomes more real
and I know that it’s not past
when you bring me a cup of coffee
and we look at doves
and other birds,
that prettily coos and sings
while they pick up seed
and I feel your hot hand
pressing mine full of love
and I know where you are
and how happy
this dreamer really is.
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