They come to me (as if out of a movie)
in black and white, too life-like to invent,
the reel is spinning, they are smiling, moving
and passing by, she turns and waves her hand.
I hear his voice accompanying Paul’s –
“Oh! Darling” in a raspy warm rendition
as smoke curls up against the kitchen walls
and cups of tea complete the composition.
I’m nine years old. We’re in the room adjacent.
You’re four years older. I am mad in love.
I mentally write down every statement,
afraid to wake up and discern the bluff.
I count streetlamps on the way back home
in case I must retrace my steps years later.
But, they are gone. The link is lost. Alone,
I sit up from my sleep as visions taper.