"I cannot yet then have you, 'cept in portrait, shadow, dreams"
and what dreams may come will hold a lantern light
beside the only road we need to walk upon.
The shadows are not shadows, but reflections of the inner silence,
that holds the spaces between the fragments of noctural melody,
in waking find that gift of gifts, sleep,
and sweet repose, where lives the lucid memoires
of our better mind.