You are often in my dreams
and I assume that I need them
in order to feel you.
But I have been up all night,
writing around the world,
with very few words for you,
very few thoughts of you,
and as the sun creeps across
this unfamiliar room,
as it does at home,
I feel you as if I was
waking. Yet, I have not slept.
I do not sleep to have you.
You are not here just in darkness.
You still come to me
wherever I am,
and in your morning guise,
Now that I must sleep,
will you come to me there too?
Perhaps you are more real than
I’ve supposed.