Early this morning, I had a dream about my friend that died a little over a year ago. In the dream, we were in a garden we had never been to before and there were people walking in and out of the garden, but no one could see my friend but me. It was night. There were doors that opened so that one could pass through hedges and trees and people were drinking from cheap white porcelain cups. Her book of poems had just been published and we were talking about it. Her hair was dark and wavy and she was wearing lace. I told her that when I read her book of poems, I actually saw it as three phases, like it was three books in one. I think we were in a garden because she loved all sorts of plants and flowers and she saw them everywhere she went. 

Monique Quintana