dream: still

nine years, it's been, at least. but here we stand
the victory bell is covered now,
brick patio, strong cement roof, still
shelter from the storm for cars to pull up
husbands waiting to retrieve the women who wear
clear, plastic rain bonnets and all manner of slips
and hose to high school theatre performances
we- you and i, are walking slowly through the
crowd, milling, waiting, walking to cars
trying to beat the rain where the patio ends,
no longer at a grassy slope crowned with clover
but a cut, brick retaining wall, bright landscaping atop
the steps are filled with people, the barrier
only a few feet high, you ask, "can we?"
knowing my legs don't offer the options they used to
i do not sprint through cornfields, leap fences, beat
springboards with callused soles. anymore.
"yes", i say. it's not too tall. i lower and sit,
swing these limbs to the side and try to
slowly stand. half-way up, something gives
way i buckle, sway. your arms are under me
thick around me before i fully realize
i am falling. you knew. with you spotting me, i
push upward, trying again this mundane task
you press down, against, strong. for
a moment, i am confused but you knew
not to raise me, brace me
immediately you knew, i needed to be still.
for a moment my tensing muscles relax
into you. my face sinks into the
crevice your neck and shoulder create
your cheek, pink with sun, falls to my forehead. you
sigh as your collarbone catches the things i've dropped
a singing bowl for my tears that i didn't see coming
you knew. one swift buckle undone can release a
store of emotions, sorrow, exhaustion, joy
you hold them, me, filling me as i empty
still

when i wake, real-time,
i do not know you, you who knew
my skin remembers my dreams
far better than my eyes the scenery
slips away, faces fade, but now,
my forehead is still warm with the memory
of your cheek my sheets are
rough compared to your skin,
contrast the worn cotton of your shirt
and my pillowcase is burlap, sand
i sigh, you were so close

perhaps you are still