04/11/2026
This is a poem about someone I have known, and the way my mind continues to hold him.
He first appeared in dreams, not as a central figure, but as a presence at the edge. Just sort of lingering in the backdrop. Over time, he became more defined. He began to speak. In several dreams, he described our connection in terms that felt more explanatory than symbolic: that we had once been twins, and that in this life he had remained behind, able to reach me only in dreams. What stood out wasn’t just his recurrence, but the way he engaged. His responses weren’t predictable, and he often seemed to be acting on and sharing information I didn’t consciously have access to. At times, the interaction carried the distinct impression of being in the presence of another point of view, rather than an extension of my own.
Then something difficult happened. I met him in waking life. (Can you imagine how fractured and impossible that felt?). I didn’t have to feel the panic in a silo; he met me there, and for a moment the world felt rearranged, and open, but…. then it closed again. The quiet return of everything that was already there, of two lives that couldn’t overlap, just a feeling of confusion about how something so certain could have nowhere to go.
Since learning of his death, the memory of that meeting returned with a different weight. Not only as an isolated event, but in relation to the dreams that preceded it. The sequence now feels more like a continuous thread, though what exactly is being threaded… I’m not 100% sure. What I’m holding now is like a sealed glass room with incredible air in it. Rare, charged, unforgettable. I can enter it, breathe it, write from it. Grief is like this, a contained atmosphere. It looks for a location, something to attach to. So that it can be revisited, re-entered, and behave like a doorway that promises there is meaning on the other side.
Poets don’t resolve things, but I have no idea what else to do besides write about it. We hold the door open for contradiction and, on our best days, we try not to force a conclusion.