October Sunday Morning


I wake
and smile.
You have come to me,
but sweetly.
It has been
          forever.

Months
since I dreamed of you-not-displeased.
Where have you been?
How is life?
I quiver, but lay
          still

as if
to keep you close,
as if this tender poet
will not flee into the ether,
as if you will not be
          elusive.

For a moment
I consider climbing back into
the dream, as if this were
a decision that could be made.
Yet I remain -
          thrilled

by the absence of
an anger I do not understand -
and push back.
I stay with this vision
of firelit softness,
          unguarded.

This dream is like salve.
Like
          salvation.

20 October 2013