Diner Dream

You were eating soup across from me.

That's the whole dream.

Cracked booth, bad light, the spoons

too loud for how quiet we'd become.

We didn't talk about the years.

We didn't talk.

I woke up and wore it all morning—

not the sharp kind of sad,

the heavy kind. The kind

that fits so well you can't

take it off.

You were right there.

That's the part that wrecks me. Right there.