The Dream

                             


    Having you in the night, how
    Would I recognize a dream
    With each face seeming no
    More familiar than the last?
    You would simply be, and I
    Being used to your being I
    Wouldn’t remark any strangeness.

    Then waking I’d remain for
    A time in that world in which
    You still lived, looking down
    The hall toward your room
    I’d recall my passing
    By earlier, dreaming
    I’d hang on to you.

    There were no revelations,
    No words to take with
    Me into the day.  You
    Were just as you always
    Were, moving about,
    Walking beside me a though
    Tied and not torn asunder.