Transient

I think it must have been in a dream
of such bright coloured textured light,
when movements sparked
like starshine in the sun,
and feet flew swifter than a swallow’s flight,
that I saw you first,

a splash of silken water,
a fountain gemstoned
with the rustle of this year’s leaves,

your features delicate
as the sharp-etched petals
of water lilies, moon-pale.

Your ears were hung with brilliants,
drops of dew, and your hands reached out,
the supple-fingered kind
that butterfly-touch like milky baby's breath,
strong and loyal as dog paws,
the kind that never ever let go.

I saw you first in a powder-painted dream
and when I wake I sometimes think I hear
your laughter fading with the morning star.