I talk to you in dreams

There is a field. I will meet you there.

Last night I dreamed of you
Again as if you took yourself
Out wandering and stumbled
Into my reverie. I knew it was
Only a wish, or perhaps,
The overlap of two wishes:
One keening out over the miles
One harbored and eclipsed.
Do you matter to me?
I am with you every day
If you wonder -- every day
I go on walks into the field
Which Rumi told about,
Hoping that you'll make
It too. I lay down and wait
For you to arrive. Then night
Comes and I drop into sleep
And in my dreams you 
Talk and smile, thank god, having
Lost the mantle of fear--
And I speak from the
Deepest shadows in 
Hushed tones drinking in
Your every detail, the 
Wrinkles in your shirt,
What age you are, whether
You've brought with you the
Foreboding. I have 
Forgotten nothing --
I know exactly what you
Worry -- I am trembling
In my despair. I know
Even as the nights  
Grow colder I will
Soon enough
Wake up.

A poem for my son, with reference to the verse below from Rumi, which Rev. Rose talked about in her sermon this past Sunday.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn’t make any sense. …”

— From “A Great Wagon” by Rumi