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It was a dream that awakened me.
It was a sleepless night that started me dreaming.

You and I stayed up all night talking.
A night with no sleep,
No dreams—
Yet a night full of dreams,
Or perhaps nightmares,
As we discussed the uncertain future.

I snuck home and tried not to wake my parents,
Lest they question where I had been all night.
How could I explain?
We sat at that table and talked and listened,
Unaware of the passage of time.

The next morning a friend called and woke me,
Asked how long I had stayed over there,
Asked just what you and I had been doing that late.
I was angry at the insinuation. . .
Yet strangely pleased by it.

I had always liked you,
Though you seemed to avoid me,
Or so I thought.
Now I wasn't too sure of anything.

I left town, went home,
Did not know when I would see you again.
I did call, and we kept talking.
Strange how we did not become acquainted
Until I had moved away.

Not much later I dreamt I was in church,
The place was full.
You and another sat behind me,
An estranged friend accidentally sat next to me.
After the service everyone else was gone,
I leaned back to talk to you,
You leaned forward to talk to me.
We both propped our elbows on the back of the pew,
We talked, we gestured.
Our arms accidentally brushed each other.
My instinct was to draw back,
Just as I always flinch from human contact.
Yet I did not wish to insult you—
I did not want to react as though I was offended
At what was merely an accident,
And perfectly innocent.
So I suppressed my instinct,
We kept talking.
Our arms brushed again.
Then you folded your hand around mine.
I completed the gesture.
We kept talking as though nothing unusual happened.
Yet we did lean closer to each other.

I awoke, and have not stopped dreaming.

I suppose it was two years later,
We sat next to each other,
Our elbows resting on the divider between.
You were showing me pictures,
You handed me a picture,
Leaning your right arm left,
      Toward me.
I reached for the photograph,
Leaning my left arm right,
      Toward you.
I could feel the hairs from your arm brush against me.
As I took the proffered picture
And you reached for the next one,
Our arms leaned apart.
But with each new photograph,
Our arms touched so lightly.
We kept talking, as though there was nothing unusual.
Then there were no more pictures.
The moment was over.
Another dream only partly come true.

Dreamscape XI Dreamscape Dreamscape XIII