by Gil Hoy
Last night
we squabbled again in my dream.
We squabbled about
whether we’d been in love
With each other
and never another.
And when we both agreed we had
We fought about who’d loved the other one
more, and why.
I won that argument too (as I usually did)
or maybe
You just let me think I’d won
because you’d decided to be kind.
And now I’m standing at your back door
peering through your glass window.
You’re not complaining
because you’re no longer there.
I see your beaming face
in my dream—
Greeting me on those days
when you were so happy
You’d let your picture
be taken of your smile
With your teeth showing.
And then I’m awake.
And then a familiar welcome
knock on my back door.