The third dream is a waking one;

Alone in a corner booth where ghosts

Dance in the Formica and mouth,

"Remember when?"

I turn away, pretend to watch

The sidewalk. The same shadows

Are there to open the door 

For your reflection; ghosts

Don't know the difference.

You're starting to show,

Five months or more,

And you smile as if the world will never end;

I'm grateful for what I haven't told you.

Still, do you hear the sirens,

Closer together each night?

Have you seen the hieroglyphics

Beneath the overpass?

Is there a kicking inside when you hear

Tiny explosions every morning?

This dream,

It's a waking one

And I can't drift off again

After the sushi chef unfolds his sketch.

Reclined and naked, her legs are spread,

A leaf fallen between.

My chopsticks might as well be stirrups

As ginger falls past my knees

Making a Gorbachev spot on my shoe,

And you smile as if the world never ended.