Nightmares rock my crib
I wake
   scream
cling
relax into the arms
of the man who always finds me.
The strong, shaking arms of the
man who clings back in
desperation.

I feel tears drip onto my head
                  drip
                  drip
                  drip
I nuzzle closer, offer
my own comfort.
But it was I who had the nightmare.

Maybe my father foresees
the nightmares
Perhaps his trembling arms hold back
the nightmares
It might be that beyond his arms
the nightmares run free.

Yet I settle…
         relax…
         dose…
Warmth spreads from his arms
to me.
My eyes fall closer and
the nightmares
Fade.

I see my father holding my hand
as we walk along the river.
I see the moon above us and my
father’s chin sprouting hair in the moonlight.
Everything is good.

But it was I who had the nightmare…