Miranda’s Midnight Walk

At the headboard, a rustle of taffeta stirs
in the mystical opening scene
as a lady’s ethereal countenance blurs
in the dimness. She’s gliding between
man and wife unaware that they sleep on the grave
of society superimposed
on a future dimensional tentative wave,
its connection as yet undisclosed.

Like a countess, complete with a bustle and bow,
she is dressed to the nines for the day
in an elegant number befitting her role
as the fashion plate walking away.
Then she ever-so-gracefully raises her skirt,
stepping down from the foot of the bed,
still not floating but fading, awake and alert,
through the wall of the closet ahead.

© 2021 Mary Boren

Can be sung to the tune of …