I And You

we dreamed riddles
but gently,
and waking,
thinking ourselves
true, breathing
ourselves sole,
we reflected on
our strange
are resident,
drift dormant
on sleep’s
uncharted seas,
in the pages
of our rigorous
but sometimes
without leave
you ascend into
objectivity, and
peer through
matter’s mystery
at what we forgot:
the other places
beneath which we
shift and sing (our
own strange play),
but always we wake
to this other dream,
I and you, our hand
together always is
the surrounding fire,
always the
smoke-smelling bouquet,
always the
night’s driving rain.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!


Gabriel Muoio


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