In Front Of The Art Museum

Last night

I dreamt you were peddling books

In front of the art museum

Used books — although —

In my estimation
A book

Generous with nuances between its covers

Can never be referred to

As being used

A book
Is not a woman used, used up

Courteous behind your makeshift stall

Suave towards the curious passersby

Negotiating

Artbooks, poetry, 

Psychology no longer in vogue,

Things to rid.

You had acquired new spectacles

Gold rimmed and stylish

To outfit your new outlook

Your new views

And you said to me: look, I am flying!

You flew onto the terracotta rooftops

Vaulting from crest to crest

Agile like a panther

My feet were rooted on the pavement

I was taking you in, every inch of you

You were

On top of the world

Too adroit to ever fall

So you thought

One

One by one words lifted off the page to stretch out in front of me

each word life, 
a heartbeat, 
and each heartbeat your whisper

In my dream they transformed into images.

reach, 
reach a bit farther
appearing effortless to keep

... as the canvas I once fell in love its beauty cut just enough 
I allowed the pain to remember the grace

Freely, as brushing your forehead 

soft 
weightless kissing 

With my fingertips