I dreamt of you. We were
old. Your white hair stood on end to greet me. Crows circled around you. They pecked
at your shoulders, lit sweetly on your toes. Your flowered dress beat in the
wind, the birds scattered.
I was there, and I was not
there. Sometimes I could reach out, I could see my papery, age-crumbled hands
stretching toward you. Other times I could only watch, and you didn’t know I
was there.
1999
