, ,

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

in dreams.

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.