Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2011 v10n1

Dream Over Dream

Walking by Fontanka, you imagine me dreaming
that you see me dreaming on an evergreen bed,
and so we are together. It’s night where I sleep.

Long past moonset, you rise behind mountains.
You climb them to look at me, fitful in bed.
I wonder at the brightness—only linked stars?

I nearly wake, but sleep ripples over me.
A boat glides up with songs and flags.
Here is Fontanka. Here are the banks.

We board, haze-blind. The canals are sinuous.
Vodka out of bottles . . . Ghost boats in a dance.
At the back of the queue, ours pitches and rocks.

We duck heads under bridges, and fireworks explode.
I see nothing, love, nothing—infinite, daring,
our eyes, gray-green, the waters in them.  end