A poem, for Sara. Great idea.
When I wake up
with my arms behind my head,
as I am wont to do
of late,
I wonder what relaxing dream has just
dissolved in my mind.
Was I on a beach, hot with sunlight?
Was I in a field, pondering possibilities?
Or was I dreaming of lying in bed, just as I am now,
hazy with sleep, so warm that I feel young and innocent again?
I never know which it is.
My eyes don't tell me;
my brain turns away when I might have read it on her face;
and my heart only ever gives me a warm, indulgent smile.
Only my soul whispers bits to me, when all the others won't notice,
but I am asleep by then.
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