For Laur, After College
You are not mostly in my dreams.
For a while, yes, for years,
I sat on your bed counting the crooked places
in the pine branches outside the window
while you talked in a room
on the other side of your old house
(carpets worn beyond grey,
money taped under the drawers)
Your mother's smile made me wince.
She was washing the aluminum foil--
again and again -- so German --
hanging it outside on a line to dry.
I dream about darker, more fragrant houses
or a beach
with pink waves that knock me, again and again,
into the warm sand. Horses everywhere, rolling and
shivering in the surf.
When I wake, there's someone
there and he washes my dishes,
feeds my cats.
Look out the window.
There's bright flashing, almost Morse.
It's me saying it's safe. I'm over you.
It's time for you to call.