Is it a memory?

Is it a memory or another dream

That golden afternoon in which we walk

Together through the meadow?  Touch and talk

Are mingled as we sit beside the stream

And watch the minnows swim against the flow.

They dart between dark shadows and the gleam

Of sunlight in green water—come and go

Like us from depth to height—suddenly seem

Translucent in the glancing lights that show

Where their quick-stirring forms are flickering.

We watch and hold each other’s hands till evening,

And as we watch, our souls dart to and fro

Between the lights of speech and depths below,

The silent depths where touch is everything.