Dreams

The reader lifts the book,

‘What page were we on?’

The woman hears the flick of pages,

In her ears, the reader’s voice rises.

Beyond the window,

The blue black dome of sky

Pin-pricked with a thousand lights

Closes around the day.

The woman dreams;

Dreams of yesterday’s passion;

Dreams full of meaning;

Dreams without end.

She smiles.

She was once fair.

She was once young.

Once her eyes looked forward,

Full of hope.

Now she listens.

Only hears a monotone;

Meaningless, compulsory

And she dreams.

The reader’s eyeballs roll

And he closes the book.