an old writer and his words

On this nighthe walks silentlyinto her dream uninvited,but she is usedto the incursions.On other nights itis she who sidlesup to him in the depthsof dreaming, eachslipping awayahead of dawn.On rare nights eachenters the dreamsof the other, pathscrossing atthe synaptic border.On those nightsshe looks for him,he for her, eachgrows fearfulthe he or shewill be trapped,alone, when…