When I sleep I dream of you.
Now, I'm not the type that remembers his dreams,
but seven times now I've
awoken with a hunger and
hit a frustration.
because I don't know who you are
and that disturbs me.

Are you the sillhouette in sunlight
that speaks with God's voice and
surrounds me with stone-angel arms
strong to ward off the apocalypse?

Are you

faceless,

tasteless,

weatherworn,

traitless,

anonymous

criminal

completely

impossible?

As I wander the streets
and take in the sky-blue pine-scent perfection
in a useless attempt to fill this void you've created,
I have to hope that you are more real than that.