On Waking from a Dream

to Andrew

I haven't dreamed of you for months--

Perhaps this is my altitude sickness,

To see your infectious, beloved smile in the night

And to think that you're happy to see me, too.

I knew this morning, waking up,

That when I strip everything else away--

All my daydreams, all my ambition, and everyone else--

That you are the only man I've ever loved.

Can you tell me why I can't stop these dreams?

Why I think of you at every turn--

Literally--and at every stop?

It takes my breath away.

How I would love to see your smile, here, now,

Here at eleven thousand feet

Where it could only add to the beauty

And make all my pain melt away.