her reflection
in the glare of the morning’s
window glass
caught mine and smiled
angelic in the coarse patois of my dream

on olive sheets
we arched the rapids
slipping under cool slate skies
mouths posing questions,
flexing answers
as if drunk on truth serum

time is kind,
memory is an benevolent editor
less lies in this somnolent rendering.
chronicling the desire
in a reasoned, understandable way

I awoke in wonder

remembered
with less reservation

©Tom Watters  8/9/09