Sweet Substitute

Poise down into the marrow, you glide noiselessly
through the shadows of my dreams.
No need for words, your voice fits like a glove
in the ease of your presence and savvy cool.

I smile even though the Fata Morgana of you
cannot last, it is but a construct of my breath,
my mischievous yearning to know, to be
just a bit more than what was given to me.

You talk to me anyway, with a casual kindness
 that vibrates a slight pity in the boundless horizon
of your clear eyes as I struggle not to sigh with
trepidation and restraint at your patience and concern.

You are not annoyed, just a bit perplexed, you too
are after all slowly getting a bit older ,too.
I like that you don't care about wrinkles making it easier
on the embarrassment of mine.

You are a superstar, I am just a bit of stardust,
but perhaps it would make you smile just a little bit
to know that to me on certain trips to my dreams
you are a sweet substitute for what ails my drifting heart.

You remind me of a time when I could look into eyes
very much like yours and see the reflection of me
soaring free like an eagle above the limitations of my fears.
Yet, it is kind of sweet that you should be the illusion

That somehow makes the loss at times easier to bear.
In a script small and forever unknown to anyone but me
you are  a kind, forgiving substitute, smiling quietly
at my child like longing to fly, fly and be free.


Trudi Ralston.
February 27th, 2015.
For the inimitable Hollywood legend,
Mr. Brad Pitt.