Sitting due West
on the lookout
above Lake Tahoe,
I saw a comet
and a lunar eclipse.

These are not impossible things:
just ice and dust
hurtling around us,
shooting out fantails as splayed
as ecstatic fingers;
just the dark full
shadow of all of us,
at once,  resting
against the full,  pocked moon.

In my dream,
two men I once loved
in the same landscape.
I am never
next to either,  but hopping
through wild scenes
desperate to catch
one,  or the other.
I can still imagine the soles
of their shoes as they faded
from the picture.
And I just let them go.

I would have hoped
to save one for later.
But I lifted my eyes
Northeast,  and then Northwest,
following both,
shifting my head
back and forth,
never knowing
what to look at,
which to hold.