First-Person Plural Dreams

Somewhere on another planet,
You were reading Ada Limón
And thinking about dreams in poems,

How well detailed we are, compared
To the poems in dreams. Never mind
How poorly we compare to life,

When detail is the measurement,
We make a better show of it—
How you were swinging in a tree,

How the exact shade of the sky
Reminded you you weren’t on Earth,
How you were pleased with your wings—

Than do the words within the dream.
There was a text. There was a text.
But beyond that, there was no next.