>> The Original Dream Tears
>>
>> Spanish guitar flutters.
>> It was 1895 or so
>> I was in a dream.
>> I met my bride on Saint George Street
>> sweet brown nameless bride.
>> In the big clapboard city market house
>> train station dream place.
>> Her eyes and smile
>> her sparkle of wit, my dream wife.
>>
>> We sit with happy conversation.
>> Across the huge room
>> I see the drunken unreconstructed rebel.
>> Swearing and pushing people.
>> I nod to her
>> that it's time for us to slide.
>> We cut through the side room bar area
>> crowded---
>>
>> I look back
>> my heart sinks
>> She is not behind me.
>> I don't see her anywhere
>> among these happy ghosts.
>> I step out on this street
>> waiting
>> looking
>> no sign of her.
>>
>> I step back in.
>> Coming through the opposite
>> far entrance I see...
>> The parade of proud Klansmen.
>> It all becomes clear to me
>> they took her.
>> My sweet smiling nameless bride.
>>
>> I step back onto Saint George street
>> salt breeze and fish smell in the air.
>> I sit with a group of fellow ghosts
>> beaten and grey under an awning
>> and I cry --- floods and torrents of tears.
>> Spanish guitar flutters.
>>
>> -Will Dockery

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From the archives, definitely a keeper.