I must have fallen asleep
to my slowed breathing;
my slowed heartbeat;
I must have started to dream.
There was a field, a clutch of trees.
There was a retrograde moon, pale white in the morning sky.
There were stately grackles,
and a single cardinal on a mulberry branch that bobbed slightly
under his tiny weight.
I was dreaming that I was
I must have submerged into the pool of myself,
because then there were your slender fingers,
wet to the wrist,
stirring me and holding my heart as I spread and rippled.