Faces are like complex metaphors
Happy like a child’s
first solo bicycle ride,
Or grim like Patty the parrot
buried in the backyard,
Treacherous like frozen ice
on your doorstep,
or innocent like a ticklish cackle.
Faces are like dreams
altering reality, and
reality altering dreams.
Playing my life in reverse
I see a fanfare of
Yours is a face I see over and over.
Your skin so light as if bleached by time
And your silver hair so thin
I can feel The ebb and flow of blood
in your scalp.
In my dream you are always wobbling
toward me unsteady like a ship
wavering side to side.
School’s just out and I am running to you
with outstretched arms eager to run into your
embrace like a hungry seagull.
But then like always
I wake up.
If faces are like metaphors, then
the memory of yours is like a quilt;
with it’s comforting familiarity.
I pull it over me like a tent
and sleep in its dream-like embrace.