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  • R.T.

A Dream

I’m not sure that all I can relate

is a true thing I’ve seen,

that the nature of it is just and true,

that what I saw was not a dream.

I’ve been sitting upon a beach

and looking upon the waves;

My eyes wonder: where? where is Her grave?

My hands wander: in sand I try to save.

Love is but a labor. I’m living in it.

I am the sand I sit in. I labored for love.

It was tragic, but I laugh—

because laughing is all I can.

Hands and hands of sand,

my body, that sand; and my eyes: sand—

sand from an hourglass

which dripped like a loose faucet.

I trifle only slightly. It was a dream.

It was vivid, and real. Slighted, so I trifle.

I was the one affronted, made fool—

by my own self, though, was this so.