Dear You

Dear You, I wonder
what sleep is like now
for you, where you are.

I skip in and out
of sleep, bouncing off
the surface like stones

small and flat. Meanwhile,
you settle and shift
(sand sifting for gold).

Are your dreams shuffling
like cards (a random draw
flashing in the dim light),

stretching like strange cats,
or climbing upwards,
clutching to rockweed,

stiff salt stalks of kelp
guiding seaworthy
travelers from weight

of the waters to
the weightlessness
of approaching stars?