Trips

I've seen you in a memory of a dream.

Brown hair, bright eyes.

Astute.

There is a sadness in you.

You are short for this world.

Like we all are,

but you feel it.

You know it.

It rains all the time there.

Dark greens and light blues,

pour across the dream,

and we are always going together.

I've taken a dozen car trips,

holding your hand.

Where are we going?

Where did we go?