I see her in dreams, in the few moments before waking,
and in the between, dreams fading like dew and fog,
and the light of morning bringing to the waking world.
I see her, long black hair falling freely down her back,
her long dress pale as bone, pale as the starlight,
her ivory feet bare, as she stands at the edge of the sea.
I sometimes see her face, as she turns to look at me,
her eyes deep grey pools, like the churning North Pacific,
where the slain are driven by the need to cease all pain.
I see her, and this morning, before the sun was bright
and before I was in the solid glow of the waking world,
I realized I was standing on the beach, where she always calls me.
I see her, and I hear her, and in my dreams she invites me
into the churning and cold waters, the dark and empty abyss
where I can take her hand, and all will dissipate into sea foam.
I see her, and I not awake, not dreaming, in shadows, mist,
as she turns to look me, a face unquiet in it’s calm,
soothing in it’s tempestuous passion.
She offers her hand to me……………..