It’s night and I am coming to meet you in the dream,
to eat eggplant and pork at the restaurant
just past the underpass
when the deluge begins,
a circumstantial waterfall,
and I realize I am not wearing shoes,
that I left the house without them
as water covers my feet,
magnifies toes and metatarsals like scandals,
then shocks my ankles with the iciest embrace.
I worry it will soon reach my shins
then rapidly rise to cursively swirl near my chest
on my way to Five Happiness restaurant,
where, really, seeing you again
would be one happiness
and enough.