The First Months After

I awoke in the dark to find you beside me.  Your legs were pulled up and you rested your hands on the tops of your knees.
This is a dream.
You did not answer, because I did not have your words.  But I had your eyes, your smile.
Yes, this is a dream.
Then I turned with you to look.  The world stretched out beneath us and a fire raged out on the plain.  Far out on the rim of the sky, silent lightning flashed and splintered.
Our old world is ending.
You looked at me and I studied your eyes to see if there was truth there, even if only a mirror of something I already knew.  I took you by your hand and we stood.
Let us go and find a new one.
Still you did not speak, but as we turned to follow the high paths away from the fires your smile followed.

I awoke in the dark and was alone.
"This is not a dream."
It is still the old world.  I walked out into the city and saw no fires.  There was a calm.  The sky was covered in cloud that drank up the electric light to make a false dawn.
When the clouds broke, I wrote your name on the rain.  The storm was moving and it could find you.

In the ruins of a forgotten cafe, snow drifts covering the windows where once there had been panes of glass.
 Had I dreamt?
Outside, the sun had broken through in streams of light that crossed the plaza. The stone conquistador frowned on an empty, white world that would never remember.
I found a table and brushed it clear.  There were two chairs left, both cracked and but poor reminders of their former selves.  In clouds of steam, I spoke your name.
The wind came softly to answer, with gentle flurries and abandon.