Details of a Dream

You asked me about his voice, and I said nothing,
nodding instead. Ask me about his face and I would
tell you about the sharp crease of brow, thin lips

that turned bloodless when angry. How long has it
been? Who would know? Ten years this April, in fact.
I stop writing and lean back in my chair, the burden

of the sun outside my shuttered windows. Remind me
again why we fear being alone. This is my relief.
They said to let it come naturally, so I sit at my desk,

let my mind wander where the boats rock gently
on a cold lake, the moon a talisman I will never lose.
Let time be a road, the trees as the hours that pass.

I would trace the limbs, the precision of the shadows.
I would define the space between the tangible and
the mystery. The two of us could be as it was before,

the end in the distance, where the lines converge
under clouds over the mountain. You would be there,
waiting patiently, arms crossed over your chest. For
every embrace, I dreamed I was you, and you were me.