Dreams You Had When You Were a Child

Morning crept
over your senses in the form
of dying stars reaching
their last tendrils of light over a bright lake.
You walked. Since dunes pulled you up
to their smooth sunsets,
you followed your father's footprints
until you could bury your face
in the stars and breathe
the comfort and beauty
like you used to breathe it close to earth
when you'd bend your head
into the morning glories
and admire the way their leaves
arch into heaven.
It was early when you
stood out over the lake in
blue sweatpants. You've been
remembering your childhood often lately,
The sun a blurry red lullaby
that bled into your sleep as dreams do,
but they were good dreams
and your father walked through them with his
dark coat that was
old and stitched. He'd bought it in Mississippi
when he was twenty and still wore it
like a promise over his shoulders.