wind, you, and slow

last night my dreams had chapter headings.
one was named wind, even though there
wasn’t a single gust. another was called you,
even though you were nowhere to be found.
each of my dreams had a page number,
everything in my dreams, even water and air,
had the texture and firmness of a hardback.

today everything I do has no importance.
what’s more important is to return to dreams,
as if I had an appointment there
that I had crossed-my-heart to keep.
I rush impatiently through the hours,
looking forward to late afternoon,
then sunset, night, and dreams…

finally, I’m back again,
in a dream called slow.
everything here is slow, especially tears.
I’ve spent two hours in this dream,
watching a single tear commute down
your face, tailgating another.
in my dream, I daydream of waking.
already, i look forward to the alarm clock
rousing me at dawn.