I dreamed you were dying
on the top floor of a tall building,
wrapped in steel and glass,
unreachable.

Though you were surrounded
by hundreds telling you how much
they cared, you felt
very much alone.

A million miles away, more
or less, I shivered in harsh heat of sun
and knew the slicing chill
that cut through you.

I woke up then, but couldn’t
leave you, let you die not remembering,
and so, in heart and mind,
set out to say again

I love you, though perhaps,
this time, not so much with words.
In second sleep, ever more
awake, I grew strong.

Leaping tall buildings and
walking through steel, I came gently,
bearing tears and a wildflower,
bowing at a distance.

And in a moment of miracle,
you lifted with your own weak arms
that veil of separation
and welcomed me.

Though we were not healed
of heartache and hardship, we held
to hope, heard together birdsong
buoyed by spring’s wind.