During the day,

his touch can be

soft as a summer=s breeze

or rough

as a cold winter=s wind.

 

At night,

he appears as a specter in my room

on walls, doors, ceiling, and window.

 

While I sleep,

he sings his haunting refrain

beckoning me to join him

telling me not to be afraid.

Unable to resist, I follow the sound.

 

Taking my hand,

he leads me across a narrow smooth stone path

above a bubbling brook underneath

toward a wooden door

with a brass knocker.

 

Once inside, we dance

to an unnamed waltz

whose music is not yet written

©1997