Dreaming is Free, or: Reverie is a Sucker’s Game

I never lay beneath aspens with blue-eyed Linda,

breathless in quaking gold light.

I never rolled and held close with dangerous Jeanne,

on the clover under dark summer skies,

or sheltered from rainstorms with dewy-lipped Cindy

steaming in thick-beamed horse barns.

And I never stole one last kiss from sweet Maryanne,

half-lidded and hidden in green lakeside mist.

But if I had

would the world look that much different

between my shadow and the moon?