For A

I dreamt this morning that there were two of you
One, making love to me, laughing, mischievous
The other kind and responsible, dressing for work
The sex-you had the glossy black hair of a pop star
And the long, lean muscles of youth
Then I suddenly thought: am I crazy? You’re not two
And woke up: but only into an outer dream
Where I hung out for a while, happy with the dress-for-work guy

It’s happened before:
One time this pop-star-you and I went rafting down a river
Once we skied in the Alps
Hell, we even hiked the Appalachian Trail

In real life, we’re middle aged, or even older
We love each other as such people do
We remind each other to take vitamins, and fiber
We’re careful at crosswalks
We tuck into bed about nine

But we revel, too, in mature pleasures
Morning oatmeal
Late Beethoven
Public radio
Murakami
Thai stir fries with the evening news

It’s sweeter, in the end, than anything I’ve ever known
And I wouldn’t change a thing about us for the world

But we’re always twenty-somethings in my dreams