Borrowed Light

The room is dimly lit,
the only sources of
light are the tv
and the moon through the windows,
rays of borrowed brightness.
Sam and Diane are arguing again,
and next up
I get to relive someone else's
wonder years.
Chachi and the Fonz
are playing it cool,
and the ghost of Don Knotts
stares across the room,
only a few inches,
wide-eyed.
I get to laugh at them,
and sometimes with them,
and sometimes alone,
and then I sleep.

I dreamt of you again again,
but this time it was different,
like my soul had given up,
even when my heart
and indeed my head
say no.
We were friends, still,
and we laughed as only friends can do,
without the hope of something more.
Like a tv marathon,
our laughter lasts a night.
And in my dream,
I have already let you go.

All the dreams I've had of you,
were incandescent in their joy,
but incandescent dreams
are only borrowed light.
In waking, each time,
I was wrought with sadness.
But this time,
I never even had a chance at joy.
Even in dreams, you're gone.
I hate to be so straightforward,
but writing this is as much discovery
as it is poetry.
I hate to be so straightforward
because I want it to sound pretty,
but I guess it sounds pretty as it is.

I love you,
and please don't go
because even in my dreams now,
you're gone.
And I am left with nothing
but the borrowed memory
of what could have been.

November 19, 2011