In my dreams
gardens and crowds in the rain
funny, laughing boys and books left on a bus
In your dreams, forests, an abundance of bears
sometimes lions
and a woeful lack of firearms
And me, lifelong pacifist, says, why didn’t you shoot it?
And you, lifelong hunter, says, I didn’t have a gun.
Oh, what luck.
What luck to travel to and from those other worlds
with our solid sleeping bodies spooned or
softly, slowly stilling each other’s limbs
What luck to wake and laugh out loud
or puzzle the pieces together
Oh, dreams.
Oh, to have a man who tells me his
who will listen,
bemused but listening
to mine
Puff Of Smoke Poems 