Awash In The Wake Of A Dream
Touchstones lashed to the prow
of time
Ghosts of a love, ghosts of a
chance
Amorphous shapes whose boundaries
define
Potentialities radiant from death
Like steamboat sickle spokes
With madly whirring blades
Reaping life from what might
be
Cast up on this quantum sea
Awash in the wake of a dream
When the dead stay dead, but
walk again
Talk again, though buried