of the soundtrack
to my dream last night,
facing me forward
into the slip stream of my mind’s review,
while time was on the accordion
compressing the memories
and playing the ones that wanted to stay.
Mesmerising to a standstill
the notes raimented themselves before me,
their diaphanous linger
forming the shape of my mother.
Stepping out of the slipstream
I watch her,
beautiful in dream youth,
opening a window…