So long was the dream
when the money had gone,
years went by pale grey
in one column of smoke,
the bruise she thought brief
never lost its purple,
so long, it painted her bed blue
and left it in the sky.
Eyes shut, lips sewn
under the goddamn wings
of hope, she held her
lover close, her newborn
dark-haired child,
uncertain whether god
had finally brought them back
or, as morning taught,
the last glass of cheap wine.
So long was the dream
her slum became a house
full of colors, sounds
the sea left in a blast,
salt healed, taxes melted,
the joke went on and on,
knowing nothing of reality,
of the harm it had done.
So long, so long, that
when the angel of light
told her about the lover,
the child, not hers, not there,
her eyes turned to grey
even more grey and silent
than these forgotten pearls
no pulse awakens.