In the Haze
by Mark Fleisher

Her arm stretches across
his shoulders in the haze
of the day's final hours
you are mine she whispers,
you belong to me,
the words wash over his sleep
like notes of the Moonlight Sonata

distant from thrashing about
in the liminal sea
seeking a lifeline to grasp
in these unnamed waters

He searches for an answer
and do you belong to me
he wonders aloud
in my fashion, she murmurs,
and what is your fashion
in this lifetime, she counters
we enjoy this togetherness
in many galaxies and other places

In the light of day
she talks not of possessions
let the bird fly free, she quotes,
and if the bird returns
that is love …
who will fly free, he asks himself,
who will return, who will love

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