Moonlight trembles
in silvered pools on the grass,
and we are dancing.
I didn’t know you could waltz, you murmur;
I didn’t know either.
It is a slow melody, and
we are in each other’s arms forever:
a full step back, to the side, half a step forward.
I do not even sense the futility
of the motion,
the losing of ground with each measure of the music.
Light and shadow cross your face.
Though I know
this is a dream,
you have never been so real.
Moonlight fades into jet black.
You fade too,
into the shadow, and
the music slowly dissolves.
But I still hold you in my mind.
And I hold in my hand
the pen you once gave me.
I am at my desk, humming,
and I am filled with you. Before me
is pure white paper.
The words flow onto the page.
I am waltzing with my pen, with my memory.
I watch myself as I write—it is never this easy
when I am awake.
I strain to see the words I have written,
but the ink fades, and
my pen, the sheet, my arm and my desk,
all fading into white,
and then my dream is gone and
I am awake.
Across the room
your black dress hangs
on the back of the door.
You missed it when you were packing
the day you left.
Prompt: Unknown