The Innisfree Poetry Journal
www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Ellen Steinbaum



Last night his late wife

came to him in a dream
then slid away, kept
slipping out of reach
down foreign streets
while I slept beside him
in our bed where my husband,
gone more than a decade now,
calls to me from time
to time, wants help
finding his cufflinks, keys.



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