You’re talking to me.
It’s morning and I just had
the most incredible dream last night.
It was like a well-written movie, with
banter so sharp it could cut through the screen,
containing a cast of colorful characters,
and a plot that ties up all nice and neat when
the hour and a half is up-
It had some post-post-modern hero
who found the courage to spill his heart,
in a tumble of tender, private truths,
to a freshly re-imagined grownup Disney princess.
It was the kind of dream you wish you could stay in forever.
You’re still talking while
I sip my tea and listen. I meant to tell you
my dream earlier,
but I didn’t know how to bring it up,
and I let the moment slip by, somehow.
my tea has a gold ball in it.
It’s like a Golden Snitch,
warm, ornate and brilliant,
a little treasure right beneath
my nose, like it was waiting for me.
I should show you,
you’d like it,
I wonder if you’ve noticed it ye-
I set it down.
I’m listening again.
You’re talking again.
I wake up.