Only in the Night

She is the keeper of my dream,

The one, the only one

Whose sandaled feet along the drift

The tides of time outrun.

Her scarves flow back upon the wind,

Her hands reach out for me,

In her clutch the precious thing

She rescued from the sea.

Sometimes I hear a haunting voice

Arising in the mist.

Or is it but the murmuring

Of echoes that persist?

Whither does she go and why

In far precarious flight?

The gods can only answer that

And only in the night.

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)