It's said when you dream of someone,
they want to come into your life.
Overnight, flakes drifted into a sculptable layer
for angels or dreams, an offer of possibilities.
A search engine discovers the places you haunted
as a teenager have either gone or been refurbished.
The name you searched is linked to a postal address.
You want a storm that shares your name
to be memorable, but not destructive.
No social media accounts. With no reason
to get in touch, you wish him well and let go.
Perhaps it wasn't a dream but some song
that was the trigger. Easy mistake under
a blank erasure of landscape. You wonder
what he remembers, if anything, of you.
You didn't name this storm by Emma Lee | Poetry Reed Diffuser
$20.00Price
