I toss and turn in worry-poisoned dreams
Of shadow-shapes that prey upon me yet,
Enwrapped in sweat-soaked sheets and silent screams
Whose echoes linger so I can’t forget.
Last night I dreamt I fled from them in grief,
And when I stopped, I saw you standing there,
Your strong arms open wide offered relief,
A haven safe from nightmare’s harm and care.
I held you close and saw your smile—Robert-
Mitchum, devil-may-care—then my troubles
Were gone, as if in death you could assert
The pow’r to vanquish all our obstacles.
But dawn, the night-lived dreams cannot survive:
Our bed, a bier on which your mem’ry lies.