The Edifice Of Dreams

I turn and cast an empty arm
across an empty space and moan
an empty half-formed charm
against my emptiness. Alone.

I am high, always, in a cold sky,
remembering cold words I said,
glassed off from what I meant, what I
didn’t say, from my heart. My head

spins high, in glass and ice, in memory,
and I gasp, breathe in chill fogs and mist.
I see your face sometimes, whispering a story
I can’t hear any more. I wish we’d kissed

once or twice more often, that we’d loved
some more solid way, some warmer way in
which I could touch my dreams ungloved,
that I could dream I touched your skin

with mine, once more. Just once more
I wish I weren’t a fog to you, drifting
ghostlike though your dreams, lost before
this edifice crumbles into morning.

The alarm is calling, the building falling,
and a hammer of light brings waking by.
I turn and cast an empty arm, jarring
me away. I love you, love, love you. Goodbye.

B.T. Murtagh


~ by B.T. Murtagh on February 28, 2009.

One Response to “The Edifice Of Dreams”

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