A jewel hung

                                                          

                                                              ... my soul's imaginary sight                 

                                                              Presents thy shadow to my sightless view 
                                                              Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
                                                              Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.    

                                                                     - Shakespeare, Sonnet XXVII

I've dreamt again

Now these dreams of mine
(of you)
of anything but ours
have become funny

funny little tragedies
which are no tragedies at all
but just the imaginary of distance

ancient
archetypical

                                  and true

as true as art
or literature
or music
             
                                 or any other such fiction

truer
indeed
than we both are