for Kat
leagues away and behind glass
she lies in his mind, half awake,
scared and restless;
through a window she imagines
him pulling a sharp quill
across parchment, ink bleeding
into pools becoming sad eyes.
letters becoming whispers –
if she could only hear his voice.
beneath a cyan lined cloud,
he stares at once warm tea
waiting for magic to appear;
painting into his retina
something akin to cold comfort
and sighs into silent ether.
feb 21, 2007
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