Good, once

I dream of reunion.
Always and forever, I dream
of reunion, all that has been
lost becoming found.

At least, I dream of the
seeking. I rarely find what
I am looking for. I fear
this still, in my vertical,
blinking life.

Last night, I sought you.
You, who would never
expect a starring role
in these dreams—
not anymore,
not after so long.

I imagine you would smile
with some satisfaction,
reading this, if you thought
you’d spotted yourself, the
flash of your own bright
teeth, your emerald gaze.

I sought you in last night’s
darkness, I tried to make
you understand. I slowed you
long enough to consider, to
consider this, consider us,
consider what was and what
could be, instead.

Not unlike what I did, then.
And again, later in life.
Others. I have a way. I wish
I had a different way. I am
still learning. You have heard.

There were others,
had been others, for you, for me.
Pale blonde hair, yours, the
sun-bleached savannah
of which we’d joked,
once, many times.

You were surprised by
my others, in the dream.
Yet just when I despaired,
you grinned.

You reached for me,
reached for me as if
you had known all along
it would all be all right.

But, see, old love of mine,
it was not all right. Our
watches were out of sync.
Even in a dream. Know I
tried to stay with you.

But I could not help it.
Nothing for it.
I slipped from you,
into morning and
aqua sheets.

We did not ripen, sweeten,
side by side on the good vine.
Different vintages, but good.
Good, once. A good pair,
while we were. No better
word presents itself. Good.

Thank you for that. Thank you
for what I remember and for
what I don’t. I sip of you, still,
sometimes, and am grateful.