One of life’s enduring intrigues:
how vividly dreams come into focus
in the half real moments between sleep and life
when you weight is lucid with suspension,
face down in a warm pool so clear
you can see the bottom teaming in color,
light falling through as if dampened by rain

You sing in glasses outside the boardwalk
which is warped and crumbling in disarray
your belly distended, waiting with a flower
“He won’t come,” you say
“Then I’ll buy you dinner.”
smile, and your arms pull me down
to the softness of two by fours,
curling your form around mine
so the kick and recoil of new breath
echoes in the hollow chambers of my spine