For Mildred Nash

Coincidence. Perhaps coincidence
Explains it all. Why look far out, in deep
For mystical solutions to make sense
Of how a dream disturbed more than my sleep—
A dream in which you sat bolt upright on
A Windsor chair and wore a long blue dress
(Ornamented with a white chiffon)
And on your visage bore a dark distress
And said your dog was dead? When I awoke,
I thought the dream an impetus to phone,
And when I did, the first words that you spoke,
Through sobs, were that your cat had died. Your tone
Was as it had been in my dream, which plain
Coincidence tries too hard to explain.