Sometimes it is the small moments that I dream about.
The accidental whisper of your fingertips along my hand
when you reach to share a book with me;
the awkwardness of dancing past you in the hallway,
like dodging my reflection:
right, left, right, and then straight on into you.
The way your eyes fill up with laughter
or your look of absentminded focus as you tear open the mail
and make a show of interest in the catalogues:
“Oh! Smocks are in this season!”
A tilting of your head
that tells me that I need to ask about your morning.
The fibers of the day-to-day we spin into the threads of life…
sometimes those are all I dream about.
