Violets In His Hand

I took a long walk on the beach,
the one from many other dreams.
I knew the sweep of shore,
the chilly sand and waking sea,
the yawning mist,
it’s always morning here.
I walked alone in my bare feet,
the ocean at my side,
my usual purpose leading me—
a rendezvous, an interlude,
a guided meditation.

In previous dreams
it took me to a lover’s arms,
open as a rose in bloom,
warm as dawn.
He always waited,
ready with a kiss, a fire,
a comfort I could hold
and bring up to my lips.

On this beach no stranger’s face,
no usual deity or angel in disguise
reached for me like an answer to a prayer.
I thought I’d been betrayed,
started to accuse the dream,
“Why have you forsaken me?”
then I felt him tug my sleeve.
I recognized his face,
the innocent and hopeful eyes,
the flush of expectation,
a giggle that he seemed embarrassed by.

This was a different dream.
I knew the little boy so well,
knew the man who had forgotten him.
but not the reasons why.
I felt the punch and pinch of grief, of guilt,
assumed how angry he must be
for all those years he’d waited for a friend,
but no cloud covered him.
Only sunlight in his smile,
a welcome wide as morning sky
and violets in his outstretched hand..
I knew they were for me.

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About Dan

Published novelist, poety, essayist, photographer and college educator. Visit me at www.firstadream.com.

Posted on June 9, 2012, in Dreams, Healing, Poetry, Self Development, Spirit, Spirituality, Wholeness, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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