Another dream. You’re never
dreaming, only seeing lakes
and trees, and if the breeze
stirs some childhood
reminiscence it passes
imperceptibly, a ship
in the night.  Can I settle
for a just a look and just
a voice? For yours,
I might, and I’m not
sure why.  Is it a gift
to see my grandfather
in a leaf, to feel the chill
of water even from this
height? I’m not sure,
either, ready to sell
my soul for any sort
of signal, a break in
this silence, which
really is a sign in
its own right.