Dreamer

Our mind, being dead, wishes to have time die,
For we, being ghosts, cannot catch hold of things.
—Louis MacNeice

I remember when the wheel of sun
Ran its course overhead in June
And the stand of Maples sung
All night in the wind like a waterfall

And you were so lovely then
In your white dress
So lovely
You have scarred me ever since

And on those pale June evenings
We ate meals with tomato slices
Big enough to fill the plate
And went to bars and drank

We were young and stupid then
And I was liable to do anything
But you rescued me and saved me
And here I am…

Still a dreamer, unable to grasp
What I have and who I am.