Suddenly awake, I call out your name,
breaking the stillness of this morning’s sleep.
But the dream escapes me, vague, incomplete,
and my heart twinges with encumbered pain.
I remember us standing in the rain,
trying to hide our eyes, trying to speak,
turning away. Here, now, my fingers keep
tracing the space where once your face had lain.
You turned away, but turning with a prayer,
left me here collecting all our days:
this dripping sunlight and the rainy weather
mingle memory and dream and yesterday.
I remember the sunlight in your hair,
and raindrops slipping down your upturned face.