Dream Lover
My lover flies the skies to me,
He hovers there outside my window
teasing me, daring me, to lay with him in the treetops.
He weaves me fast among the clouds
until I don't know where I am.
Then he takes me to his secret place
where the soft air supports us above the trees.
And there we lay, incongruous, in congress in the air
caressed from underneath by leaves.
Who is he, this dark prince of night,
who always loves me in the light?
on airborne sheets of leafy green
beneath a covering, blue, serene?
What fruit could such a union bear?
A baby -- one that floats on air?
(or is he taking seeds from me --
to harvest elsewhere for his needs?)
For memory can not be wiped by will --
the body shall remember still:
the twisting, twirling flight in air
the cold wind rushing through our hair
(the warm wind stirring a floating pair,
the rustling leaves beneath the lair)