Three of us were walking
through the hotel lobby
toward the meeting room
shouldering large tote bags
containing the conference program,
our jackets, water, notes,
and creative paraphernalia--
poems and dance directives.
Suddenly Shantee, on my left,
exclaimed, “I see Richard!”
I looked up and sure enough,
there was his image,
life-size and solid,
nothing ghost-like at all.
“Oh, Richard! . . .” sang Natica’s
voice on my right,
half a pace ahead of me,
and she continued cheerfully
chatting as if nothing had changed.
He stood smiling from ear to ear,
his blue eyes twinkling like stars.
Facing us, his right hand
pointing to the open double doors,
his left waving us toward our destination.
Who would have thought
this could happen
a short month after his passing?
Oh, but I forgot to say
this is only what I dreamed.
'