[return to Contents Page]

Hortensia Anderson

Dreams

How often I dream of you, Daddy, always
on a beach, in a fog. I try to reach you across
the rugged sand. You stand by a boulder, swing
the fishing rod, surfcasting.

I catch the shimmer of a silver lure on the edge
of consciousness. How I yearn to stay as the sun burns steadily
through the fog of sleep until I wake.

stars on the sea—
I dive
into the big dipper