we could have been beautiful nightbirds
biting deep into clouds.
we could have been a thousand lit torches
to celebrate The End.
we could have been porcupine quills,
a fragile forest, minor chords,
the shed out back, moon on the water,
every moment of clarity distilled
and bottled, rock rising from sand
dunes in the grim afternoon light,
a red door and a blue door,
silence after words, candles in hand,
breathing leaves and rain, shoe
polish under our eyes and the happy
ground beneath our feet.
we could have been children again.

in my dream you are where i remember you
and you are smiling and i wake up and the
morning is angry.