The Woman in the Moon

Finally, through a series of short dreams
Between nine am and noon
On a Saturday morning,
Interrupted by spurts of momentary consciousness,
The drama of our dialogue from long ago
Concludes – you accept my proposal
- I am ecstatic –

Then you leave for France, writing
Of your impulsive departure in French
On the back of an Italian take out menu:
Espoir de retourner bientot.

I return to find the note -
(I had spent the day at a movie theater
Watching a documentary of miracles)

This is how I endure the impossible hours
In your physical absence –

This is what feeds the memory machine,
Part mechanical, part virtual,
That reconstructs you from synaptic parts
And the bilingual notes you leave behind.

This is the energy that switches on the power
Of memory to the point of overload
That detonates the fuse
That pitches my mind
Into total darkness -
Leaving me temporarily blind
Until the stars, one by one, explode
Back into existence –
And then, finally, the sun.

Each time the scenes reappear
In my mind with slightly less clarity.
Over time they will disappear -
The stars will fail to re-ignite,
The Universe as I know it
Will slow and then quit working altogether.

Until then, if you decide to return
Come by way of the intermittent dreams.
They will lead you to the end
Of the last incomplete scene
And the beginning of your next decision:
Espoir de retourner bientot.