What Dreams May Come

Lay me down by North Creek

where it moves stately as a wedding march

light as a jig.

 

Us, under the bridge, you said

“If we stay here any longer, I’m going to kiss you”

and I blushed and froze.

 

The tall grasses hide nutria (false beaver)

and real beaver too, and we got

such a laugh from that.

 

Under the bridge, you said you loved me

and were shocked I didn’t run

but said it back instead.

 

I lay in the dappling light, out of view

dream your arms around me

and sigh with the reeds and branches.