Then There Was a Dream

Then there was a dream, a voice that came,

and a shadow in the shade, a light in the distance,

a moment of silence, a trepidation, a destination,

and a sin.

The lady came up to me and asked me questions,

took off her clothes and read a book,

some satirical poem that I was not able to comprehend,

astonished as I was at the purity of her nakedness.

I built a dream, I walked around the mist,

I lay still.

I couldn’t quite understand this disturbed harmony,

this perplexing energy, the image of a thought that gave me

no time for reflection.

The lady was there, dancing under the chandelier, reading a book,

visiting her dreams and not acknowledging mine.

I paused for a second, and the dream was gone, but not the image,

the visual energy, the foliage, the uproar of a happy dream.

I sat down, opened the book, read a poem that was once satirical.

Though written with the same words,

it was now a dirge.

What a heavy burden, I said,

and I left the room.

Madam, I thank you so very much.

Madam, I thank you so very much.

A dream, a shadow, a voice.

A dream, a shadow, a voice.

Oh, madam, I thank you so very much.

© Ernesto González, 2009