It was two years
since he sat at the table
and ate his last breakfast.

Early morning dream, he
appears in a white gown
and tells me he is not dead.

As I gaze at him, he is
sitting in a chair, the room
so cold, empty, yet light

He seemed to float up
from the chair, his face
an undistinquished fuse
of his body whole

He reaches out his
hand to me,
telling me not to worry,
I could not have saved him

Between whisps of clouds,
the morning rain
began as it did that day he left

And my father wiped his eyes
and told me not to cry,
I suddenly awoke, my eyes
completely wet.

Louise Marie DelSanto

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/morning-dream/