Dream

Some nights I dream of days
of dawn light pouring in,
of an afternoon wind calling
and a sunset just beginning.

It will be a peaceful morning,
lazing by the window,
birds tapping at the glass
as we welcome the autumn in.

I grow four rows of greens,
put flowers in twelve vases,
my laptop thrown in a corner,
my phone left untouched.

Clothes hung out to dry
in the middle of a sunlit garden,
I keep the blank pages
to write to you every night.

I dream of warm, soft hands,
I dream of gentle lips,
I dream of your clear voice,
tender as a lullaby.

A dream of faraway travels:
the moon hung on the tips of grass,
dew falling drop by drop
onto my shoulders.

I dream of a life in green,
no worries, nothing to do,
a pillow of clouds drifting slow,
a sleep that needs no name.

I wake in the middle of the night,
the work still unfinished,
turn the pages of my books,
and carry on the dream.

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Tainan, 27 May — from me, someone sitting here sighing
First published in Vietnamese on Phong is writing. English translation for this site.