In dreams things happen so terrible slow,

so tragically a thing

like love love love

in the haze of a land far away.

So stupidly clumsy in the bog

and I sit silly on a stone swinging feet.

These old-fashioned socks are so wet now

so I

place them on a rock to be glad.

In dreams the scenes move one and then the other,

and in love-dreams they switch even quicker;

my brain fashioned time for my ease.

Tonight I think of grief

and my mind is there with me

so smothering my body with joy.

So heavy a joy

for it's most grieving when I wake,

burdened my love that I never thought would shake--

the reunion of our souls,

cries out in the night and clings strong to me.

Then I thought I should vomit in the fakeness of reality,

this bog, fog, swamp.

Because I knew you, I know you,

and I talked as if I loved you,

so utterly so banished in the sickness of my mouth

loving yours and your smile that told me how you wished for me too.