Being only in my mind, you lead my time away.
And I, perforce, must follow, lest the day
Be hollow and empty without you.
You.  You dream.  You thief who steals my heart.
You vapor.  Diaphanous wisps of art
And artifice, riding on the dew.
Eluding every grasp, every reach, every press.
Your motion raising hope at each request
Of contact made and union met.
Yet as the fog can no more move the laden mast,
Your mist can only tease the fingers past
And dissipate, with hope and sun to set.
How oft, of late, I watch your carefree dance.
And wonder at my own resolve to chance
That you might, one day, have weight.
That once, when I your lips implore to speak,
Would feel your breath as warmth upon my cheek.
And there be held by strength ‘til late.
But even as I hope, my knowledge swells.
You are a dream, and solid reason quells
This reverie of consort sweet.
My mind alone does draw your form,
And craft has your attention borne
To this, my soft retreat.
I cannot blame the leaf for harm of wind
Nor fault the board for strike unkind,
Though they do bear the touch.
No.  All I lose in heart, in hope, in time
Is lost by me, whose only crime
Is wanting love too much.
I've made my choice.  I've turned my head
From all the sense that would instead
Place logic at the beam.
And as the world goes on intent,
I sit and gaze.  My days are spent
With mist and breath and dream.

© Maria Morales, 2002