Smoky-blue dreams.

Somedays

I am tired of dreaming of you.

I ache.

My dreams seem worn-out, ill-fitting

out of reach
unreal.

I lose hope that they will happen

I despair.

I begin to condemn myself for complicating our lives
my heart
by dreaming of you
and letting you know.

Then

I remember you arm around the back of my chair
my head on your shoulder
crying
in church
convicted
blessed
side by side.

Right.

Right-eous,
right-ness,
right-foot in the right shoe.

That is what I want.
You are what I want.
Next to me, every Sunday
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday
before God
with God
Glory be to God
side by side.