your absence is a presence

Dream. Noreast spring, green hills, untrammeled grass. A scene like one we're familiar with. A station wagon driven up from New York, the passenger in the backseat wringing her hands, her neighbor angry and silent but in what was once love, the driver raptly inattentive with hands at ten and two. A big top, a little tent, a couple of round tables. Kids trailing ribbons in the grass. Family, friends, family again--the younger ones, they don't know how to receive the passenger but after the narrowed eyes widen with sympathy, understanding, forgiveness they embrace and laugh. A desire to wave contrition like a flag, or to disappear, or to float into the cumuli and watch the sun-flooded scene. Obscure relatives with strong shoulders elated and inappropriate. Verging on normalcy but not quite right. Falling backward, passing out, dutch tilting, whirring. This is what I wake up to?