He’ll come on a ghostly horse
reaching towards you with a
rose too perfect to be real
A hybrid of beauty and tragedy
His song will rise from the
throat of your dreams but will be
only as real as the words you write
in your dream journal
He smells like times only authors
have lived in their published books
Knights and tin and yonder words
But you reach for him because
what else is real
Realize that the poems he writes you
are the ones that come from the flow
of words within your dreams
Your sub and semi conscious at work
Morning light will kill him but you can
write him down in memory and keep
re-imagining different versions of his story
By: Kossiwa Kiese Kinshasa Wa Logan
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