He thinks he sees her
at the exhibition of surrealist dreams
perfect hair flowing serenely
through the semi darkness
shining at times amongst the curious visitors
on opening day
Alone in solitary thoughts
messages that matter
in her back pocket
not like Magritte
more like reality
on a Sunday afternoon
Beautiful memories invented
unreal and dissolving before us
like words and pictures
shared dreams in boxes
He waits for her at the end
unsure of his persistence of memories
that never were after all those years
Still miles away
©Ash Cheyne 2021
