September 5, 2019

• until

  
  it's a recurring dream.  the one in which
  you arrive late and the wind is sweet,
  swaying your coat as if it is a mandarin robe.
  you tell me you have been lonely, that
  the company of spirits is not fulfilling
  because some of them are deaf and cannot speak
  and some are speaking this new century's
  incomprehensible language.

  i hold your hand, study your fingers,
  and tell you, you don't understand people
  so why worry about ghosts?  a sudden
  gust of wind lifts your hair aloft like
  autumn leaves.  you don't know enough about life,
  never mind trying to understand death.

  the atmosphere in the dream changed; there was
  a sudden storm.  you walked away
  down some zig zag steps and sheltered
  under a cypress tree on the edge of a cliff.
  i waited for you with
  the patience of water raising grass.

  at last you climbed back up to me
  and your arm stole around my waist.
  your fingers grazed my breast.
  hold me tighter,  i moaned, divested of my dignity.
  we stayed like that through day and darkness,
  saturated with sunshine and moonlight
  and radiating the silence you had brought with you

  until we were gathered into stone

  • 5:42 pm
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