Every day I walk out into the world
to be dazzled, then to be reflective.
I dreamt last night of an old friend who is gone in the West now. I dreamt my friend was home and high and goofy like he sometimes used to be and it was okay to tease him and laugh. I woke up with mixed feelings about the dream. It made me happy because it reminded me of some good times, the sort that make life worth living. And I felt bad about it because I normally try to pretend I didn’t wish my friend would come home from his adventures.
So he slept on a mountain
In a sleeping bag underneath the stars
He would lie awake and count them
And the gray fountain spray of the great Milky Way
Would never let him
Die alone