Dream of the Forgotten Lover
-Lucia Fox
The man entered through my eyes
and left I dare not mention how…
But now there seems to remain no trace of him
in my body. The effects have passed
like a fever, and I hardly think of him
when he returns sick from Japan
in my dream.
So united in bed, so close on our walks,
and now a postcard
painted in the windowpane by my dream.
Is it possible to sacrifice?
Is it a sacrifice to sleep in flamingo feathers?
Patience stretches out unbelievably,
developed while drinking – unlike Socrates –
a cup of tea.
The feeling
is a little like when the Tarot cards by chance
turn up the Hanged Man.