mnemosyne's asks

In Dreams 13

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The afternoon sun is warm on his face and the wet sand under his bare feet yields in a way that is very satisfying. She’s ahead of him, maybe by twenty feet, palming the top of a floppy straw hat so the ocean breeze doesn’t carry it away. He feels like he probably already chased it down once or twice. She’s got a thin piece of blue fabric tied around her waist in a makeshift skirt and a white bathing suit on. Her pale Irish skin has turned warm and new freckles dapple her shoulders and back.

A little warm hand squeezes his and jerks his arm. He looks down to find a little girl, no more than four-years-old, with shoulder length strawberry blonde locks, wispy and curly at the ends, like baby hair. She is hopping on one foot, and with great determination, her mouth set in a concentrated line. He loves her so much it makes his chest hurt.

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Dreams of memory like a sunquake
Beneath the flutter of my heart’s desire
Fuels emotions recalling to me, “are you in love?”

As if Monet himself stroked the daylight long
Yes, I stalk my love like a Malayan Tiger
Courting her hand for mine: Yes we are sublime!

All these memories freed of Time now burn
Bright like a lamp in my heart of devotion
Once dwelled ancient upon the land, a Shangri-La

Where Mnemosyne herself asks again: “are you in love?”
Yes, I am lost in the ardent fields of you, my love.

© K. James Ribble