leaning on the far side of half awake
fragments of poems flowing and falling round
with glimpses of things real and imagined
roads taken and thouse that only dreams tread
out of this soft maelstrom she moves like a ghost of blue silk
out of the silent dance of half sleep
on the edge of reality's cage
she lay down with and with ever gentle hand
brushes away all the fragments floating
and gives with beautiful gaze
a single perfectly formed phrase
like a piece of music in the larger symphony of her life
and after making sure that i had a firm grasp on the lines given
because she knows what a silly forgetful boy i can be
she kisses me awake
with that giggle that i was so fond of
twenty one years
twenty one years