I remember

That one once you were real
but not the world.
Your hand lay next to the empty cup.
I floated in a surreal dream
but it was real, your hand. I could simply have
shifted
a tiny bit
then, calloused and hewn with vitreous time
the soft under-flesh of yours
would have been on mine and
but I didn’t.
The coffee shop was full of people
and my life with reality
where dreams push in like climate change
unwanted, unstoppable, overwhelming
and things can never be the same.