der traum

i remember the murky morning light

filtered through the leaves of philodendron plants

propped on the sill of cold war-era casement windows

i remember the close confines

the green darkness

the grey haze of sleepy eyes

i tell you i saw it all quite clearly —

for a moment, in a dream from which

i already was waking —

so despite the split-second vividness

and the almost palpable ache of loss

i know it was only another phantasm

and that to mourn for such a thing

would be a waste

yet one dark october night in east berlin

i caught sight of our windows

and i wondered whether it had been

a vision of something yet to be