We were in a strange tower that overlooked a graying land. The wind was blowing hard and cold. It bent the stiff curtains, making a sound that slanted along the walls. Her long hair had a diaphanous quality in the moving spaces of light. We did not speak but this quiet aubade rose from the gestures of our hands.
I woke up.
I saw nothing but starlight edging on the windowpane.
Later, I recalled the stark cityscapes of home.
