you wear white

You wear white in the dream. Barefoot on the redwood

porch, smiling like the sun made this morning

just for you, like French-pressed coffee and cream

filling a glass cup with whispers of steam

just to see the light gleam a moment in your eyes.

Beyond the porch, a path leads through walls of ivy

and poplars, past cypress trees to an icy stream

where in blues and green the fractured mosaic

displays memories you hoped to hold together.

Turn your face up, let the shadows of branches

swaying in the wind dance on your cheeks

and the scent of all the blackberries and figs

will place something secret in your hand:

a mirror that shows you exactly the way I see you.