I just awoke from a dream.

You were there.

From a hilltop I rushed to meet you, and waited for you in the dirt,

Waited for you in the ditch,

Waited for you in the silence.

You were there and then you weren’t,

My passing glance the bridge

Connecting the two feelings.

I grew weaker,

I couldn’t breathe.

You found me,

“I can’t breathe.

I cannot breathe, mom.”

Because of you I could once more.

Your hands,

My lungs.

Your words

The rungs,

And I climbed.

Like the words of the ocean floor to the blueness of the surface,

Like the words of the bottom of a well to the dry land above,

Like the words of the mother to the son,

You told me

“Now, you do the rest.”

As the tide says to the shore,

While asunder it tore,

Above a glistening, shown by the fear of the fish.

The fear of a wish,

The fear of life

And of death.

You took away both.

I just awoke from a dream.

You were there.