Friday, July 14, 2006

Kingdom come

I had a dream about you.
Instead of your grave, I discovered
a museum of art.
Through a crawl space so small,
like a camel going into the eye
of a needle,
I emerged in a corridor
leading to rooms
full of your paintings.
I found all the things I wanted
to know about you:
your secrets hidden in your notebooks,
your high school yearbook,
your poems,
your photographs,
your letters to me
that I had never read.
It was a treasure house.

I was crying because
you weren't there.
Because you left
to me.

Because more than
the evidence
of your life,
I only wanted
to hold

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