In the dream
a friend of a friend
has come to his end

on a ship in the year
that they never once touched land

So poignant it seems in the dream
so sad that he died so far from his home
that I run in search of paper and pen
to write a properly honoring poem

But you know how it is, or maybe you don’t
in dreams, and dreams within dreams as well
that, no-way, no-win cement-footed hell
where every last paper that I can find
already has writing on every side

and even after elbowing
other dreams to the side
and trying as hard
as I can to hold on
I emerge at dawn
words gone