In Dreams, a Storm

In a confusion
of my then and my now
and a time that only exists
suspended in dreams,
I am in the garden of my youth
and you, in your youth,
stand inside looking out at me,
at my ancient garden.

A storm is coming;
I can hear it
feel it
see it
but still, I stay in the garden,
trying in vain to beat the rain.

While the grey clouds thicken overhead,
and the thunder rolls,
I clip at a bush –
waxy green leaves between my fingers –
I am trying to finish
just this one last plant
before I go,
but the boughs won’t give,
the clippers are dull and they stick.

As the first drops begin to fall,
I drop everything and run
and my run
feels fast,
the fastest I can go,
as though I fear I would melt
from the rain.
But no matter how fast I run,
the scene slips by slowly,
the moment stretches out,
the drops fall faster.

I run down the wrong side of the house
(But in this mirrored reality it is right),
I run around the corner
and see that in this time-place warp,
the front door is at the top of a hill
that never was,
up a long, winding, stretching staircase
I can’t hope to climb.
My limbs cry out
it is useless
until you –
a you that is you and me and childhood itself all rolled up together –
you open the door
and stand there giggling,
pure happiness smiling down on me.

My strength returns and,
straining against gravity,
I fling myself up
toward your smiling face
And wake as we collide.


4 thoughts on “In Dreams, a Storm

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