an emptiness murmurs
and babbles a bit
in the background
a bit of possessed
a bit louder
when dress-forms are about,
when fabrics or yarn are mentioned.
last words of love catch
over a car,
the rough skin of hands
on embroidery silk,
small colors, fraying
threads. time cannot move
that car from between us.
I dreamed I saw you last night.
We are in an apartment, preparing for a tasting
in the vacant apartment next door,
(a place that I have slept through before).
I remember a silver
—by a crook in its tail—
from a hook on the wall.
I arrive to teach a class, squeeze into a booth
and a woman greets me, says, “Here you are just like…
well, just like this morning.” I get situated, put a tool-kit
behind me on the back of the booth. Magpie is with me.
You arrive, very pregnant and squeeze into the booth
on the other side of Maggie and I hug you tightly, my hand
on your face. I cry hard and say, "I've missed you so much,”
and you tell me that you are free all night and I say, ”We have
a tasting.” At the same time, you say, "You have a tasting.”