Today the World is the Way they Dreamed Together

White drapes trees, cathedrals, valleys.
Plump branches threaten heads the way death does.
Erases then expands the view.

He dreams the gate of her orange hair.
Snow cannot outline her anymore.
She would lay her head down everywhere.

Remember her beneath the blue umbrellas?
On the north side of the running fence that fell into the sea?
Blazing under wrapped trees?

Sometimes he would drape her in all the shadows of his body.
His own white hair an umbrella.
The sky some shade of blue above him.

Each time he lifted from her, she was new.
And when she stood, the earth, in her shape, grew greener.
Eventually everything took her name.

The world is just like this.
Revealed by what stays awhile.
Then moves.

2012

for Christo and Jean Claude