This is not my poetry. It is my mother’s. She is no longer here, but her words live on in me. I carry her heart and am the custodian of her dreams. And her poetry.

FANTASIA DE TI (Fantasy of You)

By Elizabeth Sabater

I close my eyes and all I see,

is the shimmering, sensuous azure sea.

And the depth of his world of silent dream,

where illusion and shadow are a weave and a sheen.

In a hallowed mist of transparency,

all shrouded in the ghostly hymn;

the mystic light which is felt — not seen,

of serene unreality.

I sense with an ardent urgency,

the call of his voiceless voice to me.

(Calling and calling and calling to me.)

Oh, how I long to lie unseen,

embraced so gently and quietly.

In the arms of a lover such as he,

forever in love with a dream.

And I would rest so tranquilly,

they would deem me dead, but he,

need only stroke my hair to see -

That my life is the breath of his breath in me.