From sleep the foiled lover
fought like a salmon upstream
against a torrent of dream.

Start awake, he held beside
him, diffuse in the dawn, a bare
wisp of her flesh, ache

of a phantom limb
in the form of a whisper
he knew was fake.

There were birds. There was light.
She greeted him in spectral
spray at his leap’s height.


< Memory the Mockingbird