Not wanting to leave a warm bed
The heart must go into its shallow day.
Awakening from dreams of people that are moulded
Into a symbol of a flame.
It is an illuminated guise of the past and present;
Only one person stands for all of them.

In dreams a force is felt
And I am compelled to ask pestering questions,
Eagerly hoping answers that would tell me
Of those I’ve known which one she was.

The dreams that open up like torchlight
To scan my spirit fade.
Only sparks of memory filter through
To poems
As the day covers such things.

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