It's early in the day—
I can do this if I hurry,
take it down before the sevens
turn the day to tens and twos....
I had the strangest dream
early by the eve's dark light
I don't remember much,
wasn't meant to, not at all
I don't think so, lest I tell—
Risk a future where that night
becomes a well-remembered past
I don't remember much at all....
Might I fathom only feelings,
and the gift she offered me—
But one image yet remains,
like halos 'round and 'round
the summer moon at midnight,
before a wetted morn in fall....
That photograph remembered,
figure lithe and gayly dancing,
clothed only in soft light,
dusky grey and silver dawn....
Her truth, my joy, and proof—
Living proof that we believed