I had a dream of you again, Mimi. Your hair spun around you- a wreath of curled wheat, threaded with wildflowers. It's you: the May Queen. You swirl and smile, lifting and lowering your skirts around the maypole of my many ribboned mind; carouselling with all the others I've left behind. You might think I miss you, or that I have something to say. It's not true, I just remember you, some nights- some days- crashing and receding- in- out- there- there you've gone, waving yes, like a wave