On the longest night, just before the solstice,
half way through your trip, did you sent me a dream?
I knew from the fierce locking of our eyes that this
woman was you. Funny how things can seem.
Scene 1: The character playing you was a soloist,
but she could not fit her own song to the piece.
The ensemble was not working. She missed beats.
She botched the complex harmonies.
Scene 2: In a book I kept my spiritual lessons,
writing them down as I am writing this.
I imagined you had arrived at a truer essence.
I thought you'd outfaced your old nemesis,
keeping time with a new beat and with me. Yet,
is this the astral-gram I was meant to get?