The first time I dreamt about you,
we were in a crumbling Japan
outrunning an earth quake
& I was afraid at you, 
mad for you, when
you couldn't keep up. 


The second time I dreamt about you,
our bus had no driver. 
I knew I loved everyone
within arms reach, and
I opened every window
to let in the light. 


The third time I dreamt about you, 
it was January. You were in
my bed, and we were
naked. I was a slow-blowing
Winter wind and snow came
all over the quilt. 


The first time you woke up
and I was near your bed, 
the moon kept me up
with her long fingers. 
You left before breakfast. 


The second time you woke up, 
I fell to the floor after
Good Morning. You took me
to bed and I spilled fever
all over your pillows. 
You cleaned it up when
you thought I wasn't awake. 


The third time, you woke up
with me. Goat-horns and
knotted hair tangled with
my nearest body, pulling
pine needles from your
teeth, you could only see
me in motion. 


Every time, I am a devastated
valley, calmest at dawn and
swearing I won't sleep again. 
The distance between dreams
measuring light-years of
Let Me Tell You What You Mean
To Me. 


Every time, you pull the Present
bare fisted, from the bottom
of the ocean, star-eyed and
ready to swallow. Eating your
Yesterdays hand over
heart. Trying to find where
they hid Tomorrow and you.