In the dream you wrote I love you in the snow
outside my house, a house that would be mine
only as long as I stayed asleep and held tightly to
this snow globe, watching to see what you'd do
but I can never just watch, we know that
thick fingers, no reception on my cell, couldn't
get to you (always your game) then found out
you were looking for me, showing bright rings to
others who were shocked to find you that way,
thinking of me like that. I cannot let you leave,
I need to know: the license plates, why so many?
I set down the snow globe. I climb inside.
My children ride horses as I try to find the quiet
spot, any quiet spot outside to call you, stubs for
fingers, I know I will never get to you, to ask all
I wanted to ask. A shining silver fish flops on a
wooden plank floor. A cat jumps to dispatch it,
all I feel is frustration, my time is up, I can not get
to you, I will never know, I will never know you,
I wake from the snow globe, still as ever, nothing
to show, no words in the snow, anywhere.