THE DREAM

Human of my dream: barefoot, barefoot, barefoot.

I was running in my dream, barefoot in the green,

standing in a field—in a small circle between the trees.

The flowers tickled my ankles with their dancing

around the pond. You left footsteps in my sleep,

and I tried to walk the mile you left behind.

We met in a puddle of uncertainty, the pond between two of us.

I looked at the small waters, my own face was then watching me.

Yet the face inside the pond belonged to another girl:

the person before warmth, before knowing about dreams.

Life finds color and becomes that color—there is a name for my skin:

Oats, wheats, the honey jarred inside our eyes, heating us both from within.

I turned my back to the crossroads to face you, to see you, to feel you.

I sit by the pond, barefoot. Flowers are crowning my feet, and my gaze coating you.