Kid, Dreams are Little Curls of Light

--Jeffrey Bean

and memories are dreams. You can stand

on a bridge in warm wind, drink in the glitter

of the river, the heat shimmering over

grass, red flashes of birds between leaves,

and if you hold still, look hard, what you take

with you seems solid and true, like a secret

arm you've grown, invisible, and strong

for a while. But then light washes you

year after year till that shimmer is all

you remember, quick as a word, Kid,

how long is a moment? You know

better than I do. I'm drunk from counting days.

I once spent a miraculous night dancing

with friends on a bed, flaring music, big mouthfuls

of wine, and I woke up the next day full

of the long story. But now all I know is someone

dropped her cup onto a rug, right-side up,

and it sent a curl of red through the air toward

the books on my nightstand. I'm still waiting

for that flying wine to land.