Morning Light

Love, I dreamt about Wyoming again.  It was cold this time.  We walked barefoot over a frozen field, frostbitten straw scratching the soles of our feet.  The horizon was vast and never-ending and I missed you, even though you were holding my hand, even though our steps fell in sync and our breaths matched, twin plumes in the crisp air.

Do you know what that is, you asked.  That's condensation.  And we laughed, because I thought you'd said 'condescension' and wasn't that a more fitting word anyways?

Your lips were pale and blue and oh, so lucid.

Your laugh crinkled like the straw under our feet and because it was a dream, and dreams are never fair, my hands were empty again, my steps echoing alone, my breath a solemn cloud caught on a clear day.

I still miss you.