reunion belly fire His neck gave way to his brother's arm, his cheek to his kiss. A reunion and a goodbye. 080923 ... ovenbird The last time I saw you my daughter was six pounds of newly embodied stardust. When you left there was no sense that we wouldn’t see each other again soon. That was ten years ago. It’s strange, isn’t it, the way the thread of a friendship can be dropped for no reason at all? It was a dream that brought you back to me, vivid and pressing, with a message about fate following me from the realms of Morpheus. For weeks I pushed it away, but it wouldn’t let go until I sent you a message in the waking world. “I dreamed of you,” I said. “And I think you are exactly the sort of person who will see the cogs of the universe turning in synchronistic wonder.” I was right. You sent me a message back and we made plans to meet and when you showed up at my door ten years collapsed into nothing and we were back at the beginning, stripped of artifice. We dove into each other, skipped over even a hint of surface things. I told you everything. All the carefully tended secrets that I have been keeping from those who might use them against me. You held my truth and declared it beautiful. We ate ice cream and walked along the river. We showed each other what motherhood had done to our hearts. We let the sun set on our unexpected reunion. “I don’t like small talk,” you said. “But we went straight to the bottom.” I am also a person who seeks conversation that could give you the bends when you surface. Later you said, “I think we’re cut from the same cloth of stars.” I won’t let ten years go by this time. I believe there’s something we’re meant to explore together, and I intend to find out what it is. 260814 what's it to you? who go blather from