Slow Burn

Sky darkening. Listening to Sigur Ros Untitled 03. Some day I want to see the Northern Lights.





To NT.

Vestigia, I dreamt of you this morning.
The worst mawkish letters all begin like that.
And yet I had meant
the words to be branded into you new
as when the kinds of this world
were first named.

In my dream you were
an electrician -- and flammable -- so unlike
you. You
looked like you, though,
even if your face was watery (well,
seven years can do that).
But still the same chromatic bronzes
of skin, hair, eyes.
I think I can still play the scales.
You were testing for live wires
in a dead house,
not mine (but only too obviously,
interpreted, mine). Oppressive symbolism
is apparently what I have got left
to say.
Though
when
I did less meaning,
I never thought to sing of you or to you or for you --
but this morning, I dreamt of you.

A V V F