in my dream 

he admits to being sad

and I reach up

and rub his back

as a fogged up window

the clouding returning

almost instantly

but comfort still

in the motion

the point not 

to make it stop

we reach 

his door and 

we pause

I have not

been in since

I say

the sentence

unfinished and lingering

what do we do

with our sadness?

when I wake up

I am not sad exactly

more burdened

lightly with

the feeling of

knowing

of having

lived.