For M---

A nightmare woke him from his slumbered state;
A-clutching blankets, blinking in the dark,
He found the clock, and saw that it was late,
Or early still, depending on his mark.
The dream had come in granite shades, and stirred
The hairs along his arms, and neck, and back,
As he recalled the Face, the smell, the word,
And all he now could see his life had lacked.
"I understand," said he into the night,
"My life.  I should have chosen to be kind,
Not bound to some dictated Wrong and Right."
He choked.  There came a silence to his mind.
	And here he sleeps, his final words unknown,
	Unnoticed, unremarked, and all alone.

1/20/01