In my dream this morning,
I was in the ocean, maybe waist-deep,
with another woman, and there were
children all around.
Without warning, it seemed,
the sun was before us,
not looming or hovering, exactly,
but larger than life, or rather,
filling the very edges of our existence,
magnificent but not blinding
in its fierce yellows and oranges.
I’m not sure if we were supposed
to be there, so close to the sun;
I didn’t feel I was always meant to be there,
but I didn’t feel like an intrusion, either.
Maybe it’s just how it was, in that moment.
The sun sliced through the water,
where I imagined it submerged,
arriving from the other side of the world,
gaining strength and momentum
from the seahorses and mermaids
and all the other creatures we’ve
seen and imagines and hoped for.
No sooner was it hovering, briefly,
right in front of us, never burning
us with the heat that fuels the world,
than it rose, quickly but not rashly,
like an eagle soaring in the sky,
like a butterfly zipping between
the flowers of her sustenance,
upward, so high, it knew where to go.
I looked up, astonished, and exclaimed:
Wow! Is this how it happens everyday,
if you are close enough for it?