And now to the dock where I arrive each night: to jump or wade into the waters of dreams, worlds where I am immersed, swimming, one third of my life, fluctuating between English and Spanish, kicking and pulling my weight through the blue. There are so many portals, so many doors to enter, and return to.

Sometimes I see you,
even we talk
Does this mean you also dream of me?
Or is it a only a projection,
a mere copy of you
sailing the waves of my mind?

When I dream of you, things are never settled,
never well between us
but perhaps they are getting there
or perhaps not.
Who can say?

Here where the subconscious rises to the surface,
submerged cedars and sitka spruce surfacing for air,
where fear and desire uncoil
loosen and probe their snaking possibilities
in worlds where you are only an actor,
an observer, and yet a participant.

You awake where you began,
to find your testimony forgotten,
and every dreamed truth lost.

But take regard, young one,
do not disdain what you have beheld,
for you will be a witness
on a fogged and shining earth.