Water Through My Hands

She was one of those colorful characters who never quite fit into the world. I favored wearing odd clothes and tried law school, but quit after one semester. I took on a job I didn’t love to devote myself to poetry. I was getting drug alone by the world and looking for a caring hand. She was the mysterious woman sent to stand and greet me at the door like a Homeric siren, luring the weary traveler with her seductive song. She had the soul of a gypsy, the heart of a hippie, and the spirit of a fairy. But she was like water through my hands, a vapor, only a fantasy that wouldn’t last. I knew she was not mine and I could never have her nor keep her. Still, I was willing to try.

Sometimes we drift and we swerve even though we know the fantasy isn’t real, but reality has warts and scars because reality has really lived and every day was not kind. I was not hers though I might wish it so. At least, I will always have the fantasy while it lasts. That one night when I was almost two thousand miles away and she sent me beautiful pictures and I enjoyed the thought that she wanted me, if only for that one night. The very thought it would be enough for me, even to have a mere memory of her. I’ll always remember the night when she appeared before me as a gypsy moth while I was out gazing at the stars. I made a wish that we might some day spend our life together and she tried to kiss my face, then she flew away vanishing into the dark forest like I knew she would. I love the fantasy because the fantasy is always perfect. I wanted her love to shower me like rain and I would soak it all in, then the two would become one in the love we shared. Instead, she was like water through my hands, a vapor, only a fantasy that wouldn’t last. I knew she was not mine and I could never have her nor keep her. Still, I was willing to try.

She had become a part of me because I wished it so, a precious memory of what was and yet will never be. All I can do now is cry her out like water through my hands. But then she smiled like the sun & reached out her hand for me. She let her love rain down upon me & it washed me clean. I drank it in, refreshing and pure. We shared our love & she was all around me. All I could do is sweat her out. She was like water through my hands, a vapor, only a fantasy that wouldn’t last. Then I cupped my hands and she pooled in them. I held her & looked into her eyes. I knew she was not mine and I could never have her nor keep her. Yet, she willingly gave herself to me & I to her.

Now the gypsy wagon stands still, the hippie heart is full, & the fairy spirit is set free. Smiling we kiss. She is real & the fantasy is mine, all because I wished it so & because I was willing to try. Then I open my eyes and the dream vanishes, the fantasy has slipped away once again like water through my hands. She was not mine.