Quarandreams by Jacqueline Woods

a tendency to have more vivid dreams when in isolation.


The facsimile of dreams fades in morning light

like a picture seen through tracing paper,

A staccato of episodes replay

while the grey blanket of day’s dullness

waits predictably in the wings.


How can I recall that touch again?

Enfold myself in a kind coracle of arms,

Feel the blessing of skin on skin,

hands entwined in answered prayer?


Let me taste the sweetness of a smile,

Breathe once more sun-warmed flesh,

Know another person’s presence,

Hear a voice that’s not my own.


Can we ever visit the departed

with anything more than memory?

Why continue to summon unreliable ghosts

to séances of regret?