I dreamed of an age old dream
when Old Man Time had not
bleached into everyday oblivion,
and the Sun still faced his two Foes

I dreamed—saw
you there
waiting for me with
your pastel camera —
the look you gave me and that
hard paper magazine which you always wanted to make art with—

I knew you, somehow,
we had swum among midnight sunflowers in bloom,
the twin Moons at our back,
the finger I lost to a crimson butterfly
which you told me not to touch

I knew you, and you me
as the Sun knew the Moons
as Starfish knew her Ocea—
it’s always known, I know, alone,
I know, and yet—

I woke up, again alone, knew not
that the Night was decaying,
and so was the aged old dream