IN THIS DREAM
We are always dancing:
you lift your arms above me
like a bird in a summery place.
Sometimes there is music
and the softest shadows;
other times the air carries us
through the rhythm of tall, flat buildings,
bright and steady in full sun.
How easily our bodies converse:
they compose songs, moving
now in unison, now
in complex and perfect harmonies.
We let them go. As they move
they leave everything else behind.
–Rebecca Weiner Tompkins
Poetry
I remember summer days in Santa Barbara, so long ago