Feeling so
hung,
to find my soul
Stretched out to sunbake, brittle, cracked
And sore. So one would come across
Me in a meadow --
Unforgiving afternoon! --
And there annoint my head with oil,
Too parched to cry aloud for rain,
And leave me there alone to perish,
Slow and languishing in pain.

Shall I await the moment when
The shadows stretch from tree to tree
Across the meadow? Will they come
And bring relief to one so hung?

So real it was -- that moment that
Was stolen from a dream! I could
Have tasted it forever, moist
And brazen like a lover.
The dream calls out, "Unhand my child!"
I must return that moment to
The other sphere. I cannot keep
It with me here.

So
hung
am
I
To steal another moment in
The shadows as they stretch across
The meadow, reaching out to shield
My dying and deserving soul.