Braving the night,
the spoils of dreams are sweet --
something untoward in the light & dark
of breathing
I was walking on the beach;
storms crouching down
in the form of relentless fog
or doubts and certainly
you must have felt yourself overtaken
by me, by
the splash & grit
of salt and sand
on a pillow once shared --
the imprint of that dream
is still pressed onto my cheek, but
only for those first sad moments
after opening my eyes
not seeing you, but sensing you still
after all these years
if I could give you a name,
I would if only to control
the mad tide of sadness
and I ask you how does it feel
to be not one, not two,
but a multitude
moored in one solitary mind?
---susan smith nash