An Account of an Actual Dream

Phillip A. Ellis

"You come to me sweet,"
you said upon fleet
smiles, "and so discrete,
   yet leave so sour."
We were breaking bread
on the pavement, lead
lighting behind red,
   blue with power-

full rays of sun, west-
ering. Shadows blessed
the eastern park, left
   fingerprints on
the grass and sand. Blue
the river ran, due
to reach the sea, through
   heads to be gone

from sight. We ate still,
afternoon breeze chill
left me almost ill;
   I swore I saw
nothing beyond trees,
buildings, light and breeze
but blank blue. Uneas-
   y I sat, draw-

ing breath through teeth, stained
with tannin. I trained
my eyes on you, strained
   to hear you speak:
"I thought you would break
apart there; now wait.
Now it's time to wake,
   you sound so weak."

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