Reverie
Poem
I drifted off to the hum of the bus,
fields of lavender and wheat,
unfurled beneath a sky of amber,
from Paris to the cottage by the sea,
where waves whisper secrets
to the shore, and all I do
is ponder, sketch, scribble, and stroll.
I dreamt of the time we swayed
under the autumn glow of a lantern —
each step, glance, whisper and laugh
as if we knew it was our finale.
Now I wander through crimson forests,
past orchards I do not pluck, unfamiliar
alleys of golden dust,
and faces that blur my name,
who don’t grasp why I hum and twirl
when no tune has been heard or played.
Here the map is a riddle,
and every path veers away from you.
I drifted off to the hum of the bus,
fields of lavender and wheat,
unfurled beneath a sky of amber,
and when I awoke I found you
everywhere, your eyes warm
in the horizon, your tendrils
brushing my cheek, sparrows
perched on my shoulders, lilies
in my breath, honey
on my tongue, jasmine tea…
Then the last reverie shattered:
my old Chevy cruising down
the Interstate on a frosty December night,
dark as a chasm, smooth as a riverbed,
headed home.
