Friday, August 10, 2012

dream replete.




she will not open the door when you knock

her hands will be busy
in the sink washing dishes
she’ll rinse them and turn slowly
smelling of lemons

she will walk down the hallway
vanishing from your sight
she will not know you 
could see her

she will not answer the phone when it rings

she will feel the light
change in the room
and roll over in blankets
murmuring softly
hair smelling of lavender 

she will not see hours fading
across the bare walls
she will awaken, thinking
she saw you standing at the door



© 8.10.12 heather brager

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