My Envious Dream

I often have this strange and draining dream:

A known woman who yet remains unknown,

Who meets my eyes and makes tears flow and stream,

And who brings joy from which I will atone.

We glance across the water-filling dale.

Her name? It hides, repressed, within my mind.

Her face? It lies, desired, beyond the pale.

Her life? It’s sought, but it can never be.

I wake up soon, always against my will.

For days, I’m empty, wishing dreams were real.

Her fakeness makes me feel so very ill.

It waits to come again until I heal.

I know myself through her alone. Alas,

I cannot see her in the looking glass.