Dream in which I sing to my mother.

   The song is doo-wop, and my amazing falsetto
   loops around us its creamy arabesques.
   In my arms you smile, curled and quiet;
   with one palm I press your thin skull to my chest;
   my heart hears your last dreams beat.

   All my life I've wanted this:
   to take you back to me,
   hold you in this hard man's womb,
   knowing you live and will not wake again.

   At last I'm safe to sing you, like a young lover,
   this foolish song of the fountain of love,
   how it's not very far, knowing now
   how long we take to get there,
   how close we came.