The Dream I Long to Have

 

In the dream I long to have, you
are 24, we’ve just met—a bit rakish
with that flop of sandy hair, amused
blue eyes. And oh, your surprisingly delicate
wrists. Or you’re 49, our trip to Ireland,
where everyone looked like you.
Or it’s just a few years ago, and
your hair, long and white,
flies as we dance.

 

Always, you regard me tenderly,
your sweet gaze telling me I am
cherished above all others.

 

Were you there, in wisps
of dreams that eluded me?
Maybe you’re off doing whatever
soul work awaited you. Or poof,
evaporated.
Or …

 

Yesterday at dawn, in the park
where you loved to walk, a ruby throated
hummingbird hovered inches from me.
A visitation, I thought. A waking dream.
Today—the universe making sure I got it?—
I opened a card, saw an image of
a ruby throated hummingbird.
Jack—you?