I still dream about you.
As if it were yesterday,
as if
time hasn’t
ravaged
and
mellowed
me.
As
if
I haven’t swum a thousand miles
the salt water
detoxing your touch
from
my skin.
I still dream about you
as if I
need you,
as if you matter one iota,
as if my words don’t fill pages,
as if my photo won’t live on between
closed covers
stacked neatly and
forgotten.
As if the
heart-pounding hadn’t shifted
years ago to
mere flutters,
then a
flick of a
hand.
hand.
I still dream about you.
In it
we smile uncomfortably
across a table
in a diner I’ve never been.
Longing pulls at
my layers
as if it
can possibly unfold
who
I was
back
then.
As if it
would make a difference.
I still dream about you.
In the dream, a waitress in a peach dress pours coffee.
The others at our table chat,
stab at their salads,
sink teeth into
white-bread sandwiches.
Our eyes
fight to
dart
away.
I still dream about you,
with all
the rage and fury for what you took,
with all
the affection and
gratitude
for what
you
gave.
I still dream about you,
like a puzzle, like a condundrum,
like a zen koan not meant to be
solved,
but that
eats at me anyway.
I still dream about you,
awaken confused and drenched,
like a corpse descending the depths,
resurfacing,
like a fish
glinting
through
murky water.
Like a marathoner,
who never
learned how to run,
but has covered the miles anyway,
gaining distance,
yet always looking back,
wondering if you will
ever
go away.
- gae 11/15
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