You rattled me from dreams
at the hour I’ve reserved
for your appearance--
(Reality is debatable at 4 am,
so maybe you are my dream?)
Planted verse so true-to-life,
certain I’d recall upon waking
to write it all down--
(What is it with dreams,
the ones in which you scream?)
But of course I forgot it all.
It’s fruitless trying to hold on
to you, like an elusive lover--
(And when it’s over, I’ll be
unable to explain what it means.)
For inspiration, Grace shared the fantastical art of Italian painter Elisabetta Trevisan in the Imaginary Garden.
