my first dream of her    is one   where

i met her once before    to meet her   and

feel as if    i were in a dream 


that’s how it is as i watch her

a holy choir, a symphony plays    

she turns around, as our eyes meet    

for the first time, the chorus and choir belt!

this is a hymn i know, 

the first time we meet

is the first time i am ever  

introduced as 

a poet 


that’s how it is as she says, “i put a poem out for earth day.”

we dancingly debate: mary, wendell or even ansel    

 “well, i knew he took photos, but he wrote, too?” 

of course she knew, for she takes photographs

of course she does, her dark eyes dance

every wrinkle in her face is familiar    

we curtsy between the yellow 

woodland poppies and ferns

have i seen her somewhere? 

before i can get in my head    second guess     

i say, “i am a photographer, too.” 

our words sway around 

a bit more —

till our dance is through   


from now on – 

i’ll perk up and say me, too! 

so that some egotistical unique 

individualistic-loner-loser

nose turned stuck up 

one of a kind 

part of me 

dies 



and this 

new   curious   playful 

me, too! 

can dance on