When You Disguised Yourself as Munch’s Madonna
I dreamed you were dreaming of me.
Have I truly been myself on any other night?
If you dream of me
I don’t shatter like glass --
if you dream of me
I don’t have to break
like a mirror thrown against a stone wall.
I am deep if you look into me
in the shiny mirror you carry
behind your shadowy breasts --
I am a clean cold spring in the forest
where deer and foxes drink
and birdsong drifts like mist
and the images of birds skim the sky,
if you trail your dreaming fingers through me.