I have dreams where just before
waking I catch glimpses of those
who have left for parts unknown
they appear as they were
their faces unaltered
alive in new settings that are
sometimes welcome sometimes not
and yet whether I’m chilled to the bone
with wonder or horror I am always grateful
grateful to know that somewhere
deep inside I remember with a clarity
as sharp as the sharpest blade
the green-gray-smoky-amber color of their eyes
the upturned-downcast flash of their smiles
even a way of moving that was theirs alone
I remember it all whereas in the waking hours
the long bright stretch until night
I do whatever I can not to remember