* ** * * * ** *
I heard once that if you can’t sleep, you’re awake in someone else’s dream.
Santana, say you’re dreaming of me.
I wake all through the night; I fall asleep in the dark, and wake in the dark; I fall asleep in the light, and wake in the light.
And I think you must be rising out of sleep at the strangest times, because I know my dreams when I wake up; I can cradle them in my palms
like pale blue eggs, and you’re inside them. You’re in my dreams.
I sit up in bed, sheets tangled around my legs, the light getting all over everything that you and I have both touched, pale blue
as the dream eggs, and I hold my dreams
as if I could touch you with my hands if I hold still long enough.
Santana, the light turns over and over, dark blue and white and pale blue as a robin’s egg. And I wonder if I’m in your dreams—
do you wake and turn and sit up in the dark and hold the same blue eggs in your hands, glowing, just a little?
What am I saying?
I’m saying that we don’t talk enough, and we talk too much.
That not breaking up seems to mean talking less
than we did before we dated at all. That being just friends means vanishing, and
erasing things, when all I want, right now, is what we had before the shrimp and the napkin.
honey, in my dreams, I know exactly who you are.
In my dreams, you’re awake and doing every beautiful thing,
like breathing. Like being happy. And I don’t know what you’re thinking, or what your dreams are.
All I know is I wake and sleep and don’t know which is which,
but you are the pale blue light, and you are the dream.