Except in Dreams

Six years
and I am still
not adequately over
your death.

I tell myself that
dying and leaving 
are the same word,
and I believe it. 
Except in dreams.

You come back then
always my dream-self is
happy yet vaguely haunted
by grandfatherly ghosts.
Even in sleep I sense
you shouldn't be there
but that self ignores it.

I wake up
first happy
then cold.
because you're still gone.
Except in dreams.