The Pressing Dawn

I woke within a borrowed plight,
With borrowed eyes to see,
And found the world already old,
Yet somehow new to me.

I saw the years like autumn leaves
Come trembling from the trees.
I watched the planets trace their paths
With cadency and ease.

I learned the language of the rain,
The patience of the stone,
The strange and lovely circumstance
Of not being alone.

And sometimes, in the quiet hours,
I wondered what was true:
Was I the dreamer of this world,
Or was I dreamed by you?

Perhaps the truth is more opaque;
Beyond my bounded mind.
Perhaps we dreamed each other here—
Two dreamers that aligned.

And if someday the dream must end,
And all I was must cease,
I will not curse the pressing dawn
Or bargain for release.

For I was here. I gazed upon
The breadth and depth of life,
With all its glory and delight,
As well as bitter strife.

And so, if soon the light must come
For all eternity,
If then the stars must fade away,
Thank you for dreaming me.