Just like you emerge from dreams,
the moon’s pale reflection
dissolved through clouds, then
stretched across the ocean
stroking my shoulders
with her tender melt.
The tide’s swell has set
the reefs adrift like ghosts.
Darkness brightens them.
From the pier, a fisherman casts his net,
-expects the woven trellis returns filled
with vagrant stars, living quicksilver
pulled from the sea’s black throat-
In the dream, you sit on my bed
in a blurred white circle of silence
and as I approach to kiss you
your skin parts through my hands,
your lips disappear inside my mouth.
The fisherman with the cut-off jeans
spindles his net back in a sweep
and it comes up empty. From the pier,
I watch the moon’s wavering mantle
go swiftly through the dreamcatcher
just like it does when I awake.
DQ 4/7/9
