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I lie on my side, Wanting to run from Your confession. You try To pull me toward you but I lie very still, until I dream:
I am in Toledo and the night sky is bright With shadows, as El Greco painted it.
An old wind blows over The stones of the cathedral, Priests stalk the narrow streets, Looking fretfully down at the hems of their robes. I pace outside, dripping with fever, Knowing— you have taken Someone in my place.
Your blue eyes below her dark ones, Her hair falls to your chest— Your hands, her voice, its accent— The sculpture on the tympanium Repeats the scene and I watch in fascination Until it is morning. I climb into the Cool darkness and walk toward Candle flames illuminating The Virgin's downcast eyes.
The sweat freezes to my skin.
I drop a coin in the box, Light a candle and
Kunberger L. Sueño. JAMA. 1986;256(23):3269. doi:10.1001/jama.1986.03380230093036