Gone

     days on end, then weeks

     a white car would pass

     I’d look, wanting to see

     my friend, it should have been you

     once you were walking far off

     just rounding a corner

     not at all like a dead man

     for months in a new city

     there was one almost like you 

     in line at the bank

     registering for classes

     laughing with friends at a bar

     there’s more than one dream

     remember this dream?

     I demand an address or phone number

     you shake your head practically

     this is it, you say

     you can’t come see me

     as if to a child who must be made to see

 

     it isn’t now what it was then

     I don’t search these crowds for your one and only face

     my friend

     if you come looking for me now

     you won’t know me

     I’m twice as old as we ever imagined we’d be

Flight

I often dream of biracial people, men in particular, and I've worked out that there's a call for integration involved in these dreams.  I've established a personal meaning for this recurring character, and it's part of my dictionary of symbols now.  

This morning's dream felt like some kind of commentary on my established definitions---I'm still working it out:

I'm standing before a large mirror on a covered boardwalk near a sparkling ocean on a beautiful, sunny day.  The beach is deserted, as if it's off-season but just one of those remarkable perfect-weather days for a non-tourist to take advantage of.  I'm at peace and unencumbered by fear or any kind of need for something else.  The mirror reflects me as having long, ash-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and pale skin.  I'm taller and bigger, a plus-sized woman, unusually pretty and feminine.  I'm very surprised, amazed and encouraged by this reflection, even though I know it's not "what I really look like" to other people.  I realize, because of what I see, that I can now try flying.  In my initial effort, I'm flapping vigorously and my progress is okay, but kind of jerky and unpredictable.  I soon come to understand that by letting the wind lift, sustain and carry me, and using my arms more like oars or tillers, just for steering in this medium of air, I can expend much less effort while flying much more effectively.  I can look around, and get my bearings, and feel the joy of flight, by trusting the forces that carry me along.

Huh.