I Dreamt of “Kick”
by Neale Sourna

I knew him.
Of course, I knew “Kick.”
But, I didn’t think he knew me at all.
Yet found myself, in dream void, sitting across from him, facing him.
And he hugged me!
Profusely.
Pulled me to him, greatly glad to see me,
And hugged me.
Wow.

Again Kick came,
And was there before me.
Even more intensely pleased to see me.
Beside the round, empty fountain, he came to me,
Considering me, as one sees an object unsure through murky glass.
And he hugged me, again.
Close.
His full weight toppling us down,
Toppling him upon me, his weight easily bearable.
Cool.

Kick again, near distant.
I didn’t, couldn’t disturb him,
Talking to my sister, he’d walked to her and . . . .
Lucky Deb. Happy for her. A fine guy on countless levels.
I let them be, left and stood alone, in Mama’s kitchen darkness.
Yet, he came to me.
Searched and found me in the pitch black of unfamiliar territory,
To kiss my temple; the right one.
Softly.
Damn.

Again I dreamt and Kick was below my garden balcony,
Taking care of business.
Uncharacteristically glad-handing.
And I thought him not knowing nor caring I was there above.

Business done, he looked up, mugged for me,
Did a little dance and bowed just for me,
Then came up to me.

But, my dream vision shifted.
The fresh sun brightness left.
I felt my Deb was sad for him.
And I felt, I knew his long ill sis had . . . .

I held Kick’s head hard against my breasts.
He’d come to me. Found me. In grief. In greatest sorrow.
Having known me only in dream crossings.
And now,
One word . . . .
No
One
Word