On Waking After a Night of Bad Dreams

In the sky of dreams we are the clouds
until the density of images coalesces to spirit

And we fall
resolve back to solid waking drop by drop in the dark.

So, no twister ripped reality and separated us.
I did not run through rubble yelling your name.

Worse, I dreamed of the waking in anxiety and
That I lay listening to the rain speaking on the sill’s other side

This meaning without moving to remember it though knowing
What I wouldn’t get back if I didn’t write this poem.

Then when the last drop of waking fell before consciousness
Wiped it away I reached for the scattered thoughts as if for you