I wake with a start,
sweat clinging to my face and neck,
eyes wide against the darkness,
trying to remember what I dreamt.
This is a nightly occurance,
blinking in the dark with the webs
of my dreams clinging to my skin.
I dream of loss, of reaching
but falling short of my heart’s desire.
I dream of lonliness, the one thing I fear
above all else.
But there are times when I dream of hope,
a thing so delicate, it has the wings of a moth.
It lights on my skin and whispers to me
And I wake, trying to catch it in clumsy hands
that are not made to hold suuch fragile things.
I wake with loss on my lips,
the memory of distant dreams.