In New York City this spring, I woke to sunlight and a bleary eyed view of the Brooklyn Bridge. A dream was fresh in my mind, present in it's beauty -- a coffee shop, a little creek in the middle of the city, golden light. I was writing for Tupelo Press' 30/30 and this line from the dream is all that came to me that day. It's not much but the vision is with me still. Is there more to the poem? Is there more to the mystery, that other life the dream speaks of?
But the girl with golden freckles tattooed across her arms shows you where the river disappears.