Rising from the dead.

For Linnea

We are standing in the rain,
waiting for a train—

so very late
for the resurrection.

I daydream you asleep
on a ship, but you’re
right here—my arms
ache for you.

Then the sun rises
from our bed, rubs
the sleep from its eyes,
and tells us
to make love.

And we do,
rising from the dead.

and we are
no longer tired
and we are raised up

from the once dead &

now we are
both on the train that I day dreamt
traveling back across the river Lethe,

coming home

as it was once written in a letter
you sent me; that finally

arrives.