Illusion I recognize you in the crowd at a distance and rush in that direction instantly, but you are blurring out like a drop of milk on the water, leaving only an opaline mist floating in the hot summer air. I cannot reach it with my hand, or soak it into the delicate scarf you gave me, nor capture your image in the camera; it is already too late, much too late... Since we met, you were only an illusion, a plaything of the thirsty senses, and though real, but an unattainable being, unaware of my wishes and desires. So exist and be my inspiration, my hope for a miraculous change of fate; remain forever a sure and creative spark for me in the crucible of poetic pathos. Danuta Dagair