The woman who made her own dream.
Yes I dream again, for fear of losing all
Compass in love or the salvation of love.
Of you, island like a tidal pool, salt and
Warm and tenuous as the moon’s hold
Upon the water, forever vanishing back
Into the ocean out of reach, my heart full
Of dizzying emptiness, still and stopped
Minutes before midnight or high noon.
This is how I find myself alive and living.
