In trying to write this dream down, I remember
that I have not seen you for years now, outside

of this dream, so while I was walking beside you
on the street that runs between our houses

and a river, I held the details close to the center
of my mind, like your middle name, like the

color of the inside of your mouth, and then
the first kiss. None of these were in the dream.

Instead, you climbed out of a window to sit
in the plant box overlooking the street, you had

two books in your hands and you said the world
was too noisy to read. I asked if I could join you

but you were already absorbed in taking notes,
telling me again and again you are the most

forgetful person in the world, what will happen
when you wake up, you said to me, where will

I go? I don’t know, I told you, already trying
to edge past the windowsill to sit beside you,

but the bougainvillea had grown up around you
and when I grasped the stems I was surprised

by the thorns.

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