A Jar of Rain

There she was, at the party.
Except in dreams, like now
I hadn’t seen her in 100 years.
“When did you get to town?” I asked
“Just yesterday”
“How long will you stay?”
“I’m visiting friends.”
Always so coy.
She didn’t answer my question.
I drifted to the kitchen
Her to the patio.

Moon was rising.
Bringing the tide with it.
Gravity. Its such a powerful thing.
And like the pull of the moon on the sea
There she was, leaning against the wall
With that cool look, like a canary might fly out of her mouth.
“You didn’t answer my question”
“I’m thirsty” was all she said.
Out of thin air a clay jar appeared in my hand.
‘Here, drink this”
‘What is it?”

“It’s a jar of rain. May you never thirst”
“Of course. Who else would bring me a jar of rain?”
“Yes. Turning the world around.”

The dream started to get all watery.
The atmosphere, it rippled the way it does
When we start to awake.
We never want the dream to end and
Sometimes we have to rush to the end
To try to get everything in before we rise all the way out of it
Convinced that the world we are returning to is just a lie, just a lock
Just a stage where we play out
And pretend to be who we truly are.

Passing from the dream state
I could sense a closeness
Like moon and tide
Like gravity itself, very like the angels…
You cant see them
(but they none the less command attention)
And through the watery ripples her lips moved
The sound frozen in time as she mouthed the words...
“Oh Steve, you haven’t changed a bit”

But you know what?
She still didn’t answer my question.