Dream Poem #5

by Ann Pedone

Tuesday night reading Rimbaud to you over the phone
no, I’m not going to try to read the French. What does
the evening mean other than the lamplight and the moon
somewhere we can’t see. I noticed how old I looked
in the mirror again this morning. I wanted to tell you that.
Sometimes, maybe like tonight. Sometimes after the
gin and the beauty of the evening, I collapse on the bed
thinking about you, though still breathing, and it is Spring.