Some dreams I don’t understand.

Like the one I had of you

inside a room named One-Two,

sprawled on a hospital bed.

“Found you!” I said.

Turning in fear,

as skilled doctors pull mile long ropes of brown wax

out your ear.

“Gross!” I giggle.

Next, they bandage your battered

right hand with beige hand wrapping.

Crimson blotches crawl across it,

leaking through.

“You’re hurt! Ohmygosh, who did this to you?

Can you write again? Please tell me what happened!”

“I’m all better now!” you tell me, beaming, unshattered,

holding paperwork in hand and standing

wearing circle frame glasses, red shirt, dark coat and cheery smile

waiting for the elevator door to open,

leave awhile.

Head tilted, I smirk, watching you,

hoping to talk, or something, maybe,

… don’t know what.

But the dream fades

succumbed to dark.

I awake with uncertainty

of the dream’s meaning

but the smiles between us

keeps me wondering…