Dream Over Dream
Walking by Fontanka, you imagine me dreaming
that you see me dreaming on an evergreen bed,
and so we are together. It’s night where I sleep.
Long past moonset, you rise behind mountains.
You climb them to look at me, fitful in bed.
I wonder at the brightness—only linked stars?
I nearly wake, but sleep ripples over me.
A boat glides up with songs and flags.
Here is Fontanka. Here are the banks.
We board, haze-blind. The canals are sinuous.
Vodka out of bottles . . . Ghost boats in a dance.
At the back of the queue, ours pitches and rocks.
We duck heads under bridges, and fireworks explode.
I see nothing, love, nothing—infinite, daring,
our eyes, gray-green, the waters in them. 