Unfinished

I had a dream about her once
and now she visits in swirls of fog,
silhouettes of clouds
and reflections in bubbles.

She’s as difficult to describe
as she is to find.

Sometimes, late at night, I can hear her voice
just under the sounds of night.

I know what she is asking
but not how to give it.

Her complexity drives me to seek her,
even if I never understand.

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