John Skoyles




Friends in Dreams

The pond flattered the foliage,
and our reflections
trembled at the rim,
as if showing
we were souls
in skin that would fall
from us like these leaves
this autumn.
We no longer breathed
between sand and sky—
we were with friends in dreams.
A kiss disappeared
into the mist near her face,
my palm passed
through his outstretched hand.
One turned the tarot deck,
another walked on his knees
down the center aisle
of the Church of the Typical Inhabitant
and at the rail
lit the wick of a burned-down vow.
I was enjoying my role
in this eternal animation
among friends in dreams,
when the best of them,
pierced by a diagnosis,
called from an office
outside my reverie
with the news
and the need
to leave the world
of make-believe,
asking that I take him home.
And there he was,
at the waiting room
window,
staring into the sheer
sunlit maze
of streets and avenues
that ended here.