In My Dreams

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I’m writing poems in my dreams.

“Write them down,” I nudge, 

but, waking, they too swiftly fade,

hollow hoofbeats into the misty dawn,

and then they’re gone.

I’m visiting old lovers

in my dreams, as if, in death,

they now know how I cared,

how all would have been different

if only we had dared.

for Joy's Flash 55