Cars Go

While I was dreaming,

You appeared in

mist shadows

Dancing in white dresses

swelling in the breeze

Among the tumbleweeds.

You were barefoot,

And dust ran up your legs

In black clouds.

Your hands sliced

Through the thick air

Like butterfly knives—

As if they were born

In that year

To leave streaks

Of silhouettes

Against a morning sun.

When the rain came

With it’s mass index

Of symbolic gestures,

You stood among

Blue orchids in bloom.

I watched as a distant passenger

As you sat down and laid back

Looking at the dark clouds

Form even darker storms.

You had a smile

connected to nothing

That hangs

like a waning sliver of the moon

In the early months of

the North American winter.

In the dream

I was sketching eights

Into the dust I stood upon

As you laid with the color blue,

Weeping among the shady bloom,

Just off of the path we’d drove

Before we saw storms

That swerved us off of the road.

Then the storm began to settle

And the sun came back

In a blood orange lift

and a cerulean drip.

I walked to you,

laid next to you,

and looked up with you.

Storms clouds filled our eyes

Against the closing blue night.

Your hand gripped mine

As rain clouds cried.

Your belly jumped beneath white

As we waited for the first sign of day,

But the night reined the majority.

In the dream,

We held our first born son

In a rainstorm among orchids

And he wasn’t crying.

He was looking up into the storm

Like the others before him

Who consider the meaning of home.