The Wake

I was once subject to a dream
Recurring, yet always new
In a dark abandoned room, once bright
It appeared in a subjective view

Outside there stood a woman
Indistinguishable inside her hood
The face of a mirror, reflecting not me
But only the earth on which she stood

Sometimes at night, I chase her
Hoping her presence she’d construe
But, with my objects, I built each door
To lead into another room

She never returns to my dreams
For now she is the stars and moon
And every night, although it hurts
With my objects, I build another room