Aubade
       

First light. The murmur of thunder wakes me.

I watch you sleep, breathe. Your right hand trembles.
Good dreams or bad? (You claim you do not dream.)

You turn your back to me. Shift your pillow.
You sleep, breathe. Your right hand trembles.
The rain begins in green and yellow light.

You shift your pillow, turn back to me.
I wish I were the horse you ride into a dream.
The rain begins in green and yellow light.
You curl your arm around my graying head.

I am the horse you ride into your dream,
where every field you enter seems to overwhelm.
You brush your fingers through my graying hair.

Good dreams or bad, you claim we do not dream
when every field we enter leads to another realm:

fused light. A murmur of thunder wakes us.

Tweet

Copyright © 2016 Nola Garrett All rights reserved
from Ledge
Mayapple Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission