Sleepwalking

I wake
to find the dream
has not left me.

The midnight breeze
becomes
your breath,

in the rustle
of pine boughs
I hear you
call.

I am aflame.

I rise
and step into
the hall;

Familiar day
shapes
become mysterious
in the dark.

My familiar friend,
you, too, have
become mysterious,

or

perhaps I am
lost
in the haze
of my longing,
and can
not see you
clearly.

You tattooed
the map of your soul
on your skin;
if
I trace the
pathway
will I find you?

Will you find a
map in my skin
as well?

I stand
before your door.

In the
heat
of my longing
I feel the
echo
of your own.

The barrier
becomes
a threshold.

1998

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©2005-2010 Barbara L.M. Handley

Contact Barbara Handley at mailto:ardea@flipsideb.com

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