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Braving the night,
the spoils of dreams are sweet --
something untoward in the light & dark
of breathing –
I was walking on the beach;
storms crouching down
in the form of relentless fog
or doubts – and certainly
you must have felt yourself overtaken
by me, by
the splash & grit
of salt and sand
on a pillow once shared --
the imprint of that dream
is still pressed onto my cheek, but
only for those first sad moments
after opening my eyes –
not seeing you, but sensing you still
after all these years…
if I could give you a name,
I would – if only to control
the mad tide of sadness –
and I ask you – how does it feel
to be not one, not two,
but a multitude
moored in one solitary mind?