Water Soluble Dreams

(for e.e.)
Oftentimes I drift into fogs of unbeckoned remembrance and liquefy like a glacier terminating it’s unhurried pace. I daydream I am more like water, never casualty to the scar of extinction, merely shifting endlessly in a redundant cycle of disappearances and rebirths. I daydream I am more like water, eternal, running through veins, descending to heal cracks of loam, or climbing up to the uppermost limb of a proud tree.

I daydream I am more like water, swelling into oceans and hurling into rocks to announce my fury. Or sit still like a mild-mannered lagoon, placid, eager to buoy untroubled bathers during pregnancies of summertime.

I daydream I am more like water, carrying with me the secrets of spaces I’ve traveled. Or to awaken in a foreign hammock complete with the breathless uncertainty of untold grievances lurking in the foyer, or the possibility of fertile encounters in the unlikely shambles of a wasteland.

I daydream I am more like a handful water, purely to justify my not honoring your affection, ceaselessly dodging your gentle grasp with suitable causes and apologies.

Seasons might shift and I’ll wake up to the forlorn reality that forever is a solitary attic where I sit by the fire skimming yesterday’s papers with my sleeves rolled, unblemished of hungered trivial conversations that will warm entire winters. I would slide the blinds and greet daybreaks with quiet, stubborn, regrets. I would think of you and your tender admonitions to unhinge myself from the stable oppressions of a stimulating profession, when you know full well being fool that I am, I would smile softly, tousle your hair, and retrace my steps into the stipulations of a merciless job.

On certain nights I’d clamber out of interrupted sleep and coast towards the windows for your beloved ghost. I would wave to your departing smile with ache, compunction and guilt as I quietly see you vanishing past the shorelines as architectures, bright lights and memories blur behind you under the spell of midnight.