Your White Wimple

©Dec. 31st 2016, Olan L. Smith

I sat up in bed, my body buffeted by powerful winds

Lift me up, make me fly, float me in air powerful one,

And she did. In the middle of a doorway was I, caught between

Worlds, dimensions of hers and mine; one I cannot imagine,

Yet is, the other sensed, felt, and lived upon. "Who

Has such power, to open gateways between domains?" I ask.

No answer is forthcoming this night, only a brewing caldron

The midpoint of which I find myself―I am not asleep, this

Is not a dream. "Yes!" I shout aloud, "Come to me let

Me feel your touch upon my skin, let me ask your name!

You, a being from another realm, tell me. Is it me you seek?

Or am I by accident in the center of this whirlwind."

At last your arms appear beside me, long and slender

Dressed in white sleeves, closely kempt to your light

Brown skin that clothes your flesh. You are veiled

In white, your wimple unearthly outlines

Your face, as you grasp my hand. I feel

I cannot stay much longer, the portal

Closes and I must release you, perhaps forever,

It is not you who makes the vortex, it is me.