I awoke still
believing you were beside me,
head pressed against my shoulder,
hair curling rich and dark
across my chest. The pink of
your lips moving slowly to indecipherable
and melodic words--something
about Magellan and the End
of the World and love.

This is when it occurred to me that
your breath was not yours
at all, but the wind, cold and rhythmic
against my skin; a swaying
canopy of red leaves was the rising
and falling of your breasts
beneath your sweater.
The river was your voice. Tall
blades of yellow grass, your fingers
tickling my feet. Two fallen leaves,
your brown eyes squinting
in afternoon sunlight squeezed
between shadows of aspen branches.

I reached for earth, its smooth grains
parting between my fingers.
I grasped it, as if your hand, and felt
some warm pulse racing
against my palm. I couldn't tell
if it came from your heart or mine;
or if it were only the lonely
beat of eternity.