The Building for Unloved Visionaries

If I recall well enough,

the walls were welcoming.

I can never remember if I dream

of him with long or short hair,

but either way is sweet.

How often I dream of children

frightens me-when I wake up,

they’re gone, I look down

at my flat belly, and

I have never given birth.

This child was afraid of the dark,

and we sang to him

leaving a tapestry of song on the ceiling.

And he pressed me down

in a room half a mile down the hall from our son, and I felt every bit.

Time didn’t move,

we could’ve been in that room for months.

He needed me-they both needed me,

and in the morning only I need me.

If I could create love from something,

let me with him, and in that building.