i had the dream last night—
you know, the one in which i can never quite tell
if i’m actually dreaming at all.
there were whispered names
and half-hidden faces,
but the blackbirds in the treetops wouldn’t sing to us;
they’d only nod their heads in approval
and talk quietly amongst themselves.
and it was harvest time,
and i twirled around in my white dress,
a dark green ribbon in my long hair.
you were smiling, always smiling,
warm and sturdy
the women who have loved you
long before they met you
and read their poetry,
while the men
who have loved me
spoke solemn words of truth into our souls.
it was a celebration
amongst the oak trees and garden beds,
and we laughed, you and i;
and i hated that i had to wake up.