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Still-born images from daydreams,

the fading waking body, a half light.

You appear before me, day through a stained glass window

On to a mirror onto a wall (So not too defined).

A brief smiling apparition and then i’m not alone,

Been known to lie in half my bed so the imagined

Can be in the other. My admission is that I do not dream

Of you, I devote my capacities to the image of you,

forgot breathing once because my brain was working on you.

It’s a guilt like ruining something delicate

If something breaks the illusion.