Visitation

Phillip Brown

A voice

Sings to me,
Drawing me from
The depths of
Unconsciousness.

Her woeful song
Haunts my dream,
Echoing

Echoing
In my mind,
Whispering of the
Waning moon.

Through half-opened eyes,
She seems to me
To appear in the air,

As if emerging from a
Chrysalis of shadows,
Draped in
Pale silk and moonlight,

Framed by the window
And a sea of stars.

Her lonesome call
And silver eyes
Beckon me.

I awake
Surrounded by
The silence of
An empty room.

The curtains by
The open window
Billow in the rain-scented wind

And the light
Of the full-moon
Lingers still.