last night I dreamt we met in person
and talked of all the mundane things
that make a life, like where did I leave
my phone (again), and how to choose
a swimsuit, and, consulting with a friend,
how the voles across the street are having
triplets, and what a forgetful day I’d had

I was exasperated and apologetic, and you
said “maybe just not a very planned one”
and you were right and I felt better, now
(where did I leave my wallet?) and how
beautiful the night was with people
in the plaza, fires burning in rings
folks gathering around them, floating
voices scattered quietly like starlight
dancing on the night air, and you joked

how brave it was for you to visit Texas
heat, you wore a lightweight cotton
button-down shirt in white, sleeves
rolled up to elbows, and a long, flowing
skirt, an effortless picture of style
and leisure and you laughed, but I
agreed, so grateful you were there

and grateful for nightfall’s respite,
small relief, we walked and talked
(looking for my wallet), considering
sleeping fields of voles, tucked
inside their holes, you asked me
something about a poem, and I
never found my answer, interrupted
by all the sights and sounds around
and the joy of our own laughter,

talking of the things of life and all
the sorts of lovely forgettable and
memorable things that happen
when two share company together
in the reality of manifested presence